SKETCHES 


AMERICAN  CHARACTER. 


BY  MRS.  SARAH  J.  HALE, 

AUTHOR   OF    NORTHWOOD,   &C. 


The  genius  of  my  country  shall  arise, 

A  cedar  towering  o'er  the  wilderness — 
Wafting  its  native  incense  through  the  skies- 

BYRON 


THIRD   EDITION. 


BOSTON  : 

PUTNAM    &    HUNT,  AND    CARTER    &/    HENUEE. 

183Q. 


DISTRICT  OF  MASSACHUSETTS,  to  wit: 

DISTRICT  CLERK'S  OFF;CE. 

BE  IT  REMEMBERED,  that  on  the  twenty-ninth  day  of  May, 
A  D.  1&29,  in  the  fifty-third  year  of  the  independence  of  the 
UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA,  Putnam  and  Hunt,  of  the  said 
District,  have  deposited  in  this  office,  the  title  of  a  book,  the 
right  whereof  they  claim  as  proprietors,  in  the  wor»is  follow 
ing,  to  wit: 

"Sketches  of  American  Character,  try  MRS.  BARAH  J.  HALE, 
Author  of  Northwood,  &c. 

'  The  genius  of  my  country  shall  arise, 
A  cedar  towering  o'er  the  wilderness — 
Wafting  its  native  incense  through  the  skies.' — Byron.71 

In  conformity  to  the  act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
entitled,  "  An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  secur 
ing  the  copies  of  maps,  charts  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  pro 
prietors  of  such  copies.,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned:" 
and  also  to  an  act,  entitled,  "  An  act,  supplementary  to  an  act, 
entitled,  An  act  for  the  Encouragement  of  Learning,  by  securing 
the  copies  of  maps,  charts  and  books  to  the  authors  and  pro 
prietors  of  such  copies  during  the  times  therein  mentioned  ;  and 
extending  the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving 
and  etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

•*    JOHN  5V.  DAVIS, 
Clerk  of  ihe  DlitrUt  «,/  Massachusetts 


ADVERTISEMENT. 

THE  approbation  bestowed  on  the  SKETCHES  OF  AM 
ERICAN  CHARACTER,  when  they  originally  appeared  in 
the  Ladies'  Magazine,  has  enconraged  the  publishers  to 
collect  and  revise  them  for  a  separate  volume.  This  would 
not  have  been  done  so  soon  after  their  first  appearance, 
could  the  demand  for  complete  sets  of  the  Magazine  have 
been  answered,  without  printing  a  new  edition  of  several 
numbers.  The  publishers  preferred  a  selection  ;  and  they 
trust  the  public  will  approve  their  judgment. 

Boston,  August  1829. 


939356 


SKETCHES 

or 

AMERICAN  CHARACTER. 


WALTER  WILSON. 


"  If  e'er  thy  heart  incline  to  thoughts  of  Love, 

Think  not  to  meet  the  gentle  passion  joined 

With  pomp  and  greatness :  Courts  may  boast  of  Beauty, 

But  Love  is  seldom  found  to  dwell  amongst  them. 

He  seeks  the  cottage  in  the  tufted  grove, 

The  russet  fallows,  and  the  verdant  lawns, 

The  clear,  cool  brook,  and  the  deep  woody  glade, 

Bright  winter  fires,  and  summer  evening  hues: 

These  he  prefers  to  gilded  roofs  and  crowns. 

There  he  delights  to  pair  the  constant  swain 

With  the  sweet,  unaffected,  virtuous  maid  : 

Here  is  his  empire,  here  his  choice  to  reign, 

Here,  where  he  dwells  with  Innocence  and  Truth." 

ROWB. 

TRAVELLERS,  who  have  made  the  tour  of 
Europe,  always  dwell  with  peculiar  delight  on 
the  sunny  skies  of  Italy;  and  a  host  of  domes 
tic  writers,  never,  perhaps,  in  the  whole  course 
of  their  existence,  beyond  that  seeming  boun 
dary  where  their  eyes  first  beheld  the  horizon 
apparently  closing  around  them,  join  their 
voices  in  the  chorus  of  the  sunny  skies  of 
Italy! 

Let  them  lard  their  poems  and  stories  with 
threadbare  descriptions  of  the  <  rosy  twilight,5 


v^  •;  '.AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

and  '.silvery  mooubeams,'  and  i  gorgeous  sun 
rise'-.-*  confess, 'these  copied  delineations  have 
little  interest  for  me. — America,  'my  own, 
my  native  land ' — 0  !  the~~fudest  mountain, 
and  wildest  wood  of  thy  varied  landscape, 
is  far  dearer  to  my  heart,  and  more  inspiring 
to  my  imagination,  than  the  sublime  antiqui 
ties  and  unrivalled  natural  charms  of  that 
clime,  where  i  all,  save  thel  spirit  of  man,  is 
divine.'  It  is  the  free  expression  of  that  spir 
it,  which,  when  irradiated  by  liberty,  and  in 
structed  by  knowledge,  is  all  but  divine,  that 
gives  to  Americans  their  peculiar  characteris 
tics.  To  exhibit  some  of  those  traits,  origin 
ated  by  our  free  institutions,  in  their  manifold 
and  minute  effects  on  the  minds,  manners,  and 
habits  of  the  citizens  of  our  republic,  is  the 
design  of  these  Sketches.  How  well  the  design 
is  fulfilled,  the  decision  of  the  public  taste, 
must  decide. 

Walter  Wilson  was  the  only  child  of  a  man 
who  had  once  boon  an  eminent  merchant  in 
Boston,  but  losses  and  misfortunes  suddenly- 
reduced  him  to  bankruptcy,  and  he  died, 
broken-hearted,  before  Walter  had  attained  his 
seventh  year.  Mrs.  Wilson,  with  her  little  boy, 
then  retired  to  the  house  of  her  father,  a  good 
industrious  farmer,  residing  in  the  county  of 
Franklin;  where  she  might  have  dwelt  in  quiet 
ness,  had  not  the  elevation  from  which  she 
had  fallen,  and  which,  in  truth,  she  had  not 
borne  very  meekly,  continually  mortified  her 
pride.  Her  impatient  repinings  were  not 
heard  with  much  sympathy  by  her  own  family, 


WALTER  WILSON, 

and  she  was  driven  as  much  by  necessity  as 
inclination,  to  pour  forth  her  sorrows  to  her 
young  son.  However,  it  must  be  confessed* 
she  dwelt  quite  as  pathetically  on  the  loss  ot 
her  fine  house  and  fine  furniture,  fine  horses 
and  fine  carriages,  as  on  the  loss  of  that  hus 
band  to  whom  she  was  indebted  for  all  her 
finery.  She_w^_a_weak  woman — too  highly 
elated  jn  prosperity,  too  easily  depressed  by 
adversity — not  considering  that  both  are  situ 
ations  of  trial;  that  there  is  but  one  puth  which 
leads  to  eternal  life,  and  so  we  gain  it,  the 
consideration  is  trivial,  whether  it  be  beneath 
the  garish  sunbeams  of  the  one,  or  groping 
our  tearful  way  through  the  dark  shadows  of 
the  other.  But  lessons  of  true  humility,  or 
useful  exertion,  were  never  taught  by  the  pre 
cepts,  or  examples,  of  Mrs.  Wilson  ;  and 
Walter,  till  her  death,  which  occurred  when  he 
was  about  fifteen,  had  done  little,  save  repine 
at  the  cruelty  of  fortune,  or  form  wild  schemes 
of  future  success  and  grandeur,  which  neither 
his  temperament,  nor  habits,  seemed  in  the 
least  calculated  to  realize.  He  was  proud, 
passionate,  and  visionary,  and  though  not  idle, 
a  very  reluctant  boy,  whenever  manual  labor 
was  included  in  his  tasks.  These  were  the 
dark  shades  of  his  character.  Now  for  the  sun 
ny  side  ;  and  that  I  like  to  portray  far  the  best. 
His  feelings  were  just  like  his  countenance, 
— open,  ingenuous,  noble  ;  his  heart  quick  as 
the  flash  of  his  dark  eye,  in  the  cause  of  the 
oppressed  ;  and  tender  as  the  smile  that  played 
on  his  lip,  while  gazing  on  the  faces  of  those 


10  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

he  loved.  And  he  possessed  that  surest  pledge 
of  virtue  in  the  dependant,  a  grateful  mind; 
joined  with  a  sense  of  honor  so  scrupulous, 
that  he  would  have  died  rather  than  betrayed 
a  trust  reposed  in  him,  or  violated  a  promise 
voluntarily  given.  It  was  on  the  right  direc 
tion  of  these  qualities,  that  his  grandfather,  a 
cautious,  shrewd  old  citizen,  wnoTTad  fought 
in  the  battles  of  the  revolution,  and  assisted 
in  the  formation  of  more  than  one  constitution 
designed  for  the  government  of  freemen,  built 
his  hopes  of  the  future  success  of  the  destitute 
orphan.  But  how  to  manage  him  judiciously 
was  the  question.  He  had  never  been  sub 
jected  to  much  restraint,  and  his  spirit  would 
spurn  at  the  contumely  and  wrongs  the  poor 
are  often  exposed  to  receive  from  the  rich. 
He  was  naturally  romantic,  and  had  not  been 
inured  to  steady  exertion,  and  would  probably 
be  discouraged  if  a  life  of  labor  was  proposed 
as  the  only  means  by  which  greatness  might 
be  achieved.  His  grandfather  had  a  friend, 
an  old-fashioned  farmer  like  himself,  and  more 
over  rich  and  without  sons,  who  offered  to  take 
the  boy.  It  was  an  excellent  place,  if  plenty 
of  food,  and  plenty  of  work,  good  instruction, 
and  pious  examples,  are  considered  of  primary 
importance  in  the  education  of  the  young. 
The  grandfather  thought  them  so. — Walter  was 
not  so  easily  satisfied  ;  but,  finally,  gratitude  to 
his  relative,  who  had  so  long  supported  him, 
made  him  yield  to  his  wishes,  and  consent  to 
dwell  with  Mr.  Ezekiel  Clark,  for  the  space 
of  three  years.  If  in  that  time  his  objections 


WALTER  WILSON.  11 

to  the  occupation  of  agriculture  should  not  be 
removed,  his  grandfather  promised  to  aid  him 
to  prepare  himself  for  something  more  conso 
nant  to  his  wishes.  It  is  impossible,  in  this 
limited  sketch,  to  analyze  the  motives  which  in 
duced  the  old  gentleman  thus  to  dispose  of 
Walter,  whom  he  loved  as  tenderly  as  he  ever 
did  one  of  his  own  sons.  No  doubt  the  reader, 
if  a  young  lady,  thinks  his  destination  very 
vulgar — wonders  why  he  was  not  sent  to  col 
lege,  or  at  least,  placed  behind  some  counter  ; 
and,  all  interest  in  the  hero  at  an  end,  prepares 
to  turn  to  some  more  amusing  article.  If  she 
does,  she  will  lose  the  description  of  as  fair  a 
girl  as  herself,  besides  one  or  two  love  scenes. 
It  was  about  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  of 
the  last  day  of  November,  1803,  that  the  fami 
ly  of  Mr.  Ezekiel  Clark  was  summoned  to  the 
sitting  room  to  attend  family  duties.  This  was 
two  hours  earlier  than  the  usual  season  for  the 
evening  devotions,  but  all  knew  the  reason  of 
the  call,  and  assembled  without  delay.  There, 
in  an  oldfashioned  armed  chair,  before  a  fire  that 
seemed  calculated'for  the  meridian  of  Lapland, 
sat  Mr.  Ezekiel  Clark;  at  his  right  hand  stood 
a  three  legged  table,  on  which  lay  the  "  big 
ha'  Bible,"  well  worn,  and  beside  it,  a  small, 
neat  edition  of  the  holy  scriptures,  apparently 
new.  Mr.  Clark  was  advanced  in  years,  sixty 
or  upwards,  a  tall,  spare,  yet  vigorous  looking 
man,  and  in  his  youth,  probably  handsome  ; 
but  now  his  face  was  marked  with  the  deep 
lines  of  care  and  sorrow,  while  his  thick,  over 
hanging  eyebrows,  gave  an  austere  cast  to  his 


12  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

countenance,  which  was  much  increased  by 
his  habitual  gravity.  With  her  chair  nestled 
close  to  his  side,  and  her  hand  reclining  on  his 
knee,  sat  his  daughter,  his  only  one,  and  a 
fairer  girl  could  not  be  found  in  all  the  country. 

I  dislike  full  length  descriptions  of  beauty. 
Who  does  not  know  that  a  handsome  woman 
must  have  a  fair  complexion,  bright  eyes,  ruby 
lips,  and  all  the  et  ccetera  of  loveliness,  requisite 
to  take  captive  the  affections  of  lordly  man? 
These  choice  gifts  had  been  showered  upon 
the  fair  Fanny — (that  was  her  name  ;  had  she 
ever  attended  a  boarding  school,  it  would 
probably  have  been  novelized  into  Frances; 
but  the  advantages  of  a  fashionable  education 
she  never  had  enjoyed,  and  so  I  shall  call  her 
as  her  father  always  called  her — Fanny  ;) — 
with  a  prodigality  that  marked  her  for  a  favor 
ite  of  nature  ;  yet  I  cannot  be  positive  of  the 
color  of  her  hair,  whether  it  was  black,  brown, 
or  chestnut. 

The  qualities  of  her  mind  and  temper  de 
mand  more  particular  scrutiny.  She  was  the 
youngest  of  eight  children  that  a  beloved  wife 
had  borne  to  Mr.  Clark.  The  others  all  died 
young  ;  and  as  these  human  blossoms,  one  by 
one,  were  withered,  the  heart  of  the  mother 
sunk  beneath  her  grief.  She  died  of  a  linger 
ing  consumption,  and  the  little  Fanny,  then 
but  five  years  old,  only  remained  to  console 
her  father.  It  might  naturally  be  supposed 
she  would  be  much  indulged — but  it  was  not 
so.  Mr.  Clark  was  a  genuine  descendant  of 
the  pilgrims,  pious  even  to  enthusiasm,  and 


, 

I  ""WALTER  WILSON  IS 

" 

pursuing  what  he  deemed  the  path  of  duty, 
with  a  r^oTuHpiTTHaf "  savored  of  sternness. 
Strict  in  family  duties,  and.  family  government, 
even  to  rigidness,  he  would  have  thought  it  an 
infringement  of  the  decalogue,  to  have  indulged 
with  his  child  in  that  playful  hilarity  which 
good  people  now  deem  so  innocent  and  lauda 
ble.  But  Fanny  loved  her  father  with  a  rev 
erence  so  deep,  so  grateful,  that  all  his  com 
mands  were  pleasant.  She  even  watched  to 
anticipate  his  wishes,  and  although,  had  she 
followed  the  impulses  of(her  own  happy  and 
buoyant  heart,  she  would  have  sung  and  danc- 
e~cT  from  morning  till  night  ;  yet  whenever  she 
caught  her  father's  voice,  hers  sunk  to  soft 
murmurs  ;  and  when  she  heard  his  step,  her 
own  was  demure  as  a  quaker's.  Yet  it  was 
not  that  he  did  not  love  her  sweet  tones  ;  they 
thrilled  every  fibre  of  his  heart,  and  often 
charmed  him  (  even  to  tears  ' — but  he  did  not 
dare  indulge  his  tender  and  delighted  feelings, 
he  so  feared  he  should  idolize  her  ;  he  so  trem 
bled  lest  he  should  lose  her.  He  was  like  the 
miser  who  can  only  count  his  gold  in  secret, 
lest  some  one  beholding  his  treasure,  should 
rob  him  of  the  precious  deposit.  He  always 
prayed  for  her,  but  he  never  caressed  her  ; 
even  when  she  drew  her  chair  so  close  to  his, 
and  looked  up  in  his  face  with  such  confiding 
fondness,  he  did  not  smile  upon  her.  But  she 
knew  he  loved  her,  and  to  retain  and  merit  his 
affection,  was  her  study  and  pride.  O,  she 
was  a  sweet  girl  !  as  gay  as  a  swallow,  and 
yet  gentle  as-~?r  dove — persevering,  and  yet 


14  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

flexible  ;  just  the  disposition  for  a  woman,  a 
wife  ;  a  spirit  that  can  accommodate  itself  to 
the  wishes  and  humors  of  those  on  whom  it  is 
dependent  for  happiness,  and  yet  retain  suf 
ficient  firmness  to  act  with  decision  when  cir 
cumstances  shall  require  its  exertion. 

I  have  dwelt  so  long  on  the  character  of 
Fanny,  (how  could  it  be  avoided  ?)  that  I  must 
be  brief  in  the  notice  of  the  personage  seated 
next  her.  And  yet  to  delineate  half  her  pecu 
liarities,  would  fill  half  a  volume,  and  her  say 
ings  and  doings  would  form  a  folio.  She  was 
no  other  than  Miss  Judith  Clark,  better  known 
in  the  family  and  neighbourhood  by  the  name 
of  aunt  Judy,  the  sister  of  Mr.  Ezekiel  Clark; 
and  ever  since  the  decease  of  his  wife,  had 
been  his  housekeeper.  She  was  a  working, 
talking,  bustling  body,  and  one  who  never 
omitted  aii  opportunity  of  giving  good  advice 
to  any  person,  let  them  be  ever  so  mean  or 
miserable,  who  would  listen  to  her  harangues. 
If  she  did  not  always  give  assistance  to  those 
who  needed  it,  it  was  because  she  did  not  see 
it  to  be  her  duty.  She  was  the  reverse  of  her 
brother  in  many  things,  and  perhaps  the  differ 
ence  cannot  be  better  explained  than  by  saying, 
that  while  she  was  boasting  of  her  knowledge 
of  the  law,  he  was  silently"  obeying  its  injunc 
tions.  Yet  she  was  an  excellent  housekeeper, 
and  proud  of  her  housekeeping  ;  in  short,  one 
of  your  notables  ;  a  character  not  so  common 
now  as  twenty  years  since.  She  was  seated 
very  erect,  in  a  low  chair,  her  knitting  work  on 
her  lap,  but  covered  with  her  pocket  hundker- 


WALTER  WILSON.  15 

chief,  which  would  wholly  have  concealed  it, 
had  not  one  unmannerly  needle  thrust  itself 
through  a  small  hole  she  had  that  very  evening 
to  her  great  consternation  burnt,  while  smok 
ing.  Her  visage  was  thin  and  sharp,  and  her 
features,  and  the  lines  of  her  countenance,  de 
noted  no  predominant  passion,  save  extreme 
carefulness  ;  yet  her  spectacles  were  now  rais 
ed  upon  her  forehead,  and  her  hands  reverent 
ly  folded  upon  her  lap,  as  if  she  had  cast  aside 
all  worldly  thoughts,  while  preparing  to  attend 
the  reading  of  the  Holy  Word.  Let  us  not 
doubt  the  sincerity  of  her  worship — slio  cer 
tainly  made"a  sacrifice  of  inclination  to  duty  ; 
thi5  posture  she  had  assumed,  was  to  her  active 
habits  a  penance  ;  for  never,  during  waking 
hours,  were  her  hands  seen  folded,  except  at 
the  morning  and  evening  devotions.  But  even 
then,  she  was  not  wholly  freed  from  anxiety. 
Her  attention  was  often  diverted  from  her  re 
ligious  meditations,  by  the  pranks  of  a  roguish 
looking  urchin,  who  sat  in  the  corner,  on  her 
left.  A  little  curl-headed  Jonathan,  who  had 
been  bequeathed,  by  his  dying  mother,  to  the 
care  of  aunt  Judy,  and  whom  she  loved,  three 
excepted,  the  best  of  any  human  being.  But 
he  loved  play,  even  better  than  he  did  aunt 
Judy  ;  and  was  now,  from  his  low  stool,  slyly 
pulling  and  teasing  two  venerable  cats,  that 
lay  sleeping  on  a  rug,  placed  purposely  for 
them,  near  the  fire. 

One  other  figure  completed  the  group  around 
the  hearth.  Nearly  opposite  aunt  Judy,  and 
beyond  the  table,  on  the  right  hand  of  Mr. 


16  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Clark,  sat  a  young  man,  apparently  sunk  in 
profound  thought.  The  air  of  his  countenance 

was   lofty,    almost   to   haughtiness and   yet 

there  was  something  in  the  expression  of  his 
very  handsome  features  that  attracted,  almost 
fascinated,  every  beholder.  It  was  the  ex 
pression  of  generous  feeling,  that  promised 
sympathy;  of  open  sincerity,  that  invited  confi 
dence  ;  and  few,  who  regard  the  face  as  an  in 
dex  of  the  mind,  would  have  hesitated  to  trust 
him  as  a  friend,  and  fewer  still  would  have 
wished  to  have  provoked  him  to  become  an 
enemy.  That  youth  was  Walter  Wilson.  It 
was  the  day  of  his  emancipation — he  was  twen 
ty-one;  and  the  family  were  thus  early  assem 
bled,  that  they  might  all  unite  once  more  in 
worshipping  the  Most  High,  before  Walter  de 
parted  to  a  school,  in  a  distant  town,  which  he 
had  engaged  to  instruct  during  the  winter. 

Mr.  Clark  read  a  chapter  composedly,  but 
in  a  much  lower  tone  than  usual — perhaps  that 
was  the  reason  why  neither  Walter  nor  Fanny 
heard  one  word  of  the  matter.  Aunt  Judy 
could  not  attend  strictly  to  the  reading,  as  she 
was  obliged  to  keep  one  eye  constantly  fixed 
on  the  rogue  in  the  corner,  while  sundry  shakes 
of  her  head  denoted  her  displeasure  at  his  con 
duct.  Then  followed  the  prayer,  in  which 
Mr.  Clark  deviated  so  far  from  his  usual  form, 
as  to  petition,  earnestly,  that  the  path  of  duty 
might  be  made  plain  to  the  one  about  to  go 
out  from  them — that  he  might  be  kept  from 
temptation,  and  preserved  from  evil  ;  and  that 
they  might  all  meet  again,  if  not  in  this  vale  of 


WALTER  WILSON.  17 

a,  yfitJttthoJhaag£nj?f  joy  above.  Aunt 
udy,  as  a  response,  uttered  a  sigh  so  deep, 
it  nearly  resembled  a  groan — Walter  stood 
•with  his  lips  firmly  compressed,  and  every 
nerve  wrought  up  to  endure,  if  possible,  with 
out  betraying  his  feelings  ;  he  did  riot  relax 
for  aunt  Judy's  groan.  But  when  he  heard  a 
soft,  low  sigh,  that  he  knew  was  breathed  by 
Fanny,  his  knees  trembled  so  violently,  he  was 
compelled  to  lean  against  the  mantel-piece  for 
support.  When  Mr.  Clark  had  ended  his 
prayer,  he  took  from  the  table  the  small  Bible, 
and  advancing  one  step  towards  Walter,  said, 
— i  It  is  now  my  duty,  Walter,  to  say  you  are 
free.  You  have  been  a  faithful  and  a  good 
boy;  not  that  I  can  say  you  have  always  done 
your  duty;  but  we  all  have  our  short-comings, 
and  you  have  behaved  much  better  than  I  ex 
pected  when  I  took  you.  I  hope  and  pray  you 
will  continue  to  do  well;  and  as  a  guide  to  your 
path,  I  give  you  the  word  of  God.  Study  it, 
Walter,  and  you  wiil,  I  inist,  bourne  wise  un 
to  salvation.  And  if,  in  this  world,  you  meet 
with  any  trials  in  which  I  can  assist  you,  call 
upon  me  as  your  friend,  your  father.' 

His  voice  sunk  as  he  pronounced  the  last 
word,  but  not  one  word  was  so  distinctly  heard 
by  Walter  ;  and  as  he  returned  the  fervent 
pressure  of  the  old  man's  hand,  the  tears  swell 
ed  in  his  eyes.  Aunt  Judy  sobbed  audibly, 
and  would  doubtless  have  cried  outright,  had 
she  not  felt  it  her  duty,  while  her  brother  was 
speaking,  to  reprimand  little  Jonathan,  which 
she  did  in  a  whisper,  by  telling  him  that  '  if  he 
2 


18  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

did  not  let  them  'ere  cats  alone,  and  behave 
himself,  she  would,  as  soon  as  ever  Walter 
was  gone, 'whip  him  till  she  took  his  skin  off.' 
For  the  credit  of  her  humanity,  however,  I  will 
record,  that  she  had  not  the  least  intention 
of  executing  her  threat. 

A  man  now  entered  the  room  to  say  he  wait 
ed  for  Walter.  '  We  must  bid  you  good-by, 
Walter,'  said  aunt  Judy,  offering  him  one  hand, 
while  with  the  other  she  wiped  her  eyes — '  but 
where  is  Fanny?  Fanny!'  she  continued  in 
a  loud  tone — 4  where  can  the  girl  be  gone  to, 
I  wonder  ?  Fanny  !' 

'  Bid  Fanny  farewell  for  me,'  said  Walter, 
in  a  low  voice,  and  then  again  pressing  the 
hand  of  Mr.  Clark,  he  rushed  from  the  house. 

4  You  may  put  my  trunk  in  the  sleigh,  and 
drive  on,'  said  Walter,  to  the  man  who  was  to 
accompany  him — '  I  shall  walk.' 

i  Walk  !  what,  all  the  way  to  your  grand 
father's  ? '  inquired  the  man *  why  it  is  a 

good  five  miles,  and  a  plaguy  rough  road.' 

1  No  matter,'  replied  Walter,  in  an  accent  so 
impatient,  it  sounded  angry — '  I  say  I  shall 
walk.' 

c  And  walk  you  will,  I  guess,  for  all  of  my 
stopping  for  you,'  muttered  the  fellow,  as  he 
drove  off  at  full  speed. 

Walter  sjowly  followed  the  jingling  vehicle, 
till  he  had  reached  an  abrupt  angle  in  the  road, 
which,  entered  upon,  soon  shut  out  the  view 
of  Mr.  Clark's  dwelling.  Here  the  youth  paus 
ed,  turned,  and  stood  long,  with  folded  arms, 
gazing  on  the  home  he  had  left.  The  cold  of 


WALTER  WILSON.  19 

winter  had  already  commenced  ;  the  ground 
was  covered  with  snow,  that  sparkled  beneath 
the  bright  moonlight  ;  it  was  shining  as  the 
world  appeared  to  Walter,  and  cold  as  his 
hopes  on  entering  it.  The  tall  elms,  that  so 
gracefully,  during  summer,  threw  their  green 
foliage  over  the  long,  low,  oldfashioned  build 
ing,  now  towered,  revealed  in  all  their  gigan 
tic  proportions,  their  long  bare  arms,  stretched 
abroad,  as  if  to  defend  the  dwelling  they  had 
so  lately  ornamented.  All  around  was  hush 
ed  ;  and  while  Walter  stood  there  so  still  and 
lonely,  the  only  living  thing  unsheltered,  he 
felt  pressing  on  his  heart  that  sense  of  utter 
desolateness,  which  persons  of  sensibility,  who 
for  the  first  time  find  themselves  alone  in  the 
world,  are  doomed  to  suffer.  There  are  few 
sensations  more  painful. 

How^his  hopes,  and  plans,  and  wishes,  had 
altered,  since  he  first  went  to  reside  with  Mr. 
Clark  !  Fanny  was  then  just  twelve.  He 
promised  to  stay  three  years  ;  they  looked  like 
an  eternity  to  him,  he  was  so  anxious  to  min 
gle  among  men,  and  hew  himself  a  path  to  fame, 
and  do — he  knew  not  what — but  '  wonders,  no 
doubt.'  The  three  years  expired.  Fanny 
was  fifteen.  She  loved  Walter,  with  all  the 
innocency  and  truth  of  sisterly  affection.  Eve 
ry  leisure  hour  they  planned  some  amusement 
together.  During  the  long  winter  evenings, 
when  she  had  knit  her  thirty  times  round,  they 
read  the  same  books  together.  Fanny,  with 
tears  in  her  eyes,  begged  him  to  stay  ;  could 
he  go  ?  0,  no  !  not  then — in  a  few  months  per- 


20  AMERICAN  SKETCHES 

haps.  Thus  two  years  passed — they  passed 
quickly  to  Walter.  One  year  only  remained 
of  his  minority  ;  and  during  that,  he  never 
once  expressed  a  wish  to  go.  And  Jacob 
could  not  labor  more  faithfully,  while  serving 
for  his  beloved  Rachel,  than  Walter  wrought 
on  the  farm  of  Mr.  Clark.  Yet  the  intercourse 
between  Walter  and  Fanny,  had  assumed  a 
character  so  distant  and  reserved,  that  a  stran 
ger  might  have  thought  them  wholly  indifferent 
to  each  other.  This  reserve  was  the  effect  of 
.  her  delicacy,  and  his  sense  of  honor  arid  fideli 
ty  to  his  master.  It  was  then  Walter  felt  the 
full  bitterness  of  his  poverty  and  dependence. 

He  loved  Fanny,  deeply,  fervently;  and  yet 
he  never  breathed  a  syllable,  which  a  brother 
might  not  have  spoken  to  a  sister.  Still  he 
feared  he  had  not  been  sufficiently  guarded, 
else  why  had  not  Ptlr.  Clark  expressed  a  wish 
to  have  him  reside  longer  with  him,  when  he 
so  much  needed  help  ?  '  He  suspects  I  love 
Fanny,'  murmured  the  youth  to  himself.  A 
convulsive  movement  for  a  moment  agitated 
his  features.  Then  clenching  his  hand  firmly, 
he  exclaimed — '  And  I  will  yet  be  worthy  of 
her  love  !'  And  plunging  down  the  steep  road, 
he  pursued  his  way  with  a  speed  that  seemed 
calculated  to  overtake  his  companion. 

In  truth,  Walter  was  not  the  only  person 
who  wondered  why  he  was  suffered  to  depart. 
Aunt  Judy  owned  her  astonishment  ;  but  as 
ecojwmy  was  as  much  her  hobby  as  it  ever  was 
Adam  Smith's,  the  only  difference  being  that 
his  was  political,  hers,  personal — she  resolver1 


WALTER  WILSON.  21 

all  her  doubts  by  reflecting,  that  probably,  her 
brother  knew  of  some  person  he  could  hire,, 
who  would  work  cheaper  than  Walter. 

The  next  morning  saw  a  very  sober  looking 
group  assembled  around  the  breakfast  table  of 
Mr.  Ezekiel  Clark.  '  I  took  a  bad  cold  yes 
terday,  and  could  not  sleep  much  last  night/ 
said  Mr.  Clark. 

1 1  had  terrible  bad  dreams,  and  my  sleep  did 
not  do  me  one  bit  of  good,'  said  aunt  Judy. 

Fanny  said  not  a  word  ;  but,  judging  by  her 
swollen  eye  and  pale  cheek,  she  had  rested  no 
better  than  the  others.  A  fortnight  passed, 
and  no  news  from  Walter — another  fortnight, 
and  a  letter  came  to  Mr.  Clark. 

4  Pray,  how  does  Walter  like  his  school  ? 
how  many  scholars  does  he  have  ?  when  is  he 
coming  home  ?'  eagerly  demanded  aunt  Judy; 
huddling  question  upon  question,  with  true 
feminine  volubility. 

1  He  says  nothing  at  all  about  his  school,' 
replied  her  brother,  gravely,  and  glancing  his 
eye  on  his  daughter. 

1  You  needn't  look  to  Fanny,'  said  aunt  Judy, 
pettishly,  provoked  that  her  questions  were  all 
vain, — '  as  if  she  wanted  to  hear  anything 
about  Walter.  She  hasn't  mentioned  his  name 
since  he  went  away,  and  I  don't  believe  she 
cares  whether  he  is  dead  or  alive.' 

Fanny  was  employed  making  a  coat  of  crim 
son  flannel,  which  aunt  Judy  had  taken  par 
ticular  pains  to  color  for  little  Jonathan.  Dur 
ing  the  time  her  father  was  reading  the  letter, 
she  had  busily  continued  her  work  ;  but  aunt 


22*  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Judy  afterwards  declared,  she  never,  c  in  all 
tho  days  of  her  life,  see  such  a  looking  button 
hole  as  one  that  Fanny  made  on  that  crimson 
suit.'  Her  face  was  pale  as  marble  when  her 
father  first  looked  upon  her ;  at  aunt  Judy's 
remark,  it  was  colored  to  her  forehead — even 
her  neck  and  hands  were  as  crimson  as  Jona 
than's  coat. 

A  smile  of  tenderness,  mingled  with  a  shade 
of  sorrow,  passed  over  the  usually  fixed,  and 
almost  stern  features  of  Mr.  Clark.  He  col 
lected  his  writing  materials,  and  sat  down  to 
answer  Walter's  letter  ;  but  what  he  wrote, 
aunt  Judy,  with  all  her  fidgeting,  could  not 
discover. 

The  months  passed  on  ;  but  if  we  credit 
aunt  Judy,  they  passed  heavily.  She  always 
declared  it  was  the  most  melancholy  winter  she 
ever  experienced.  *  And  Fanny,'  she  said, 
1  was  so  downspirited  and  moping,  she  rahj 
feared  the  girl  was  going  into  a  consumption.' 

At  such  remarks,  Fanny  would  try  to  smile  ; 
but  if  her  father  heard  them,  the  look  of  pity 
and  endearment  he  always  threw  upon  her, 
would  bring  tears  to  her  eyes. 

It  was  towards  the  last  of  March,  and  on 
the  evening  of  a  stormy,  blustering  day,  such 
as  frequently  occur  at  the  vernal  equinox,  that 
Mr.  Clark  sat  down  to  read  his  usual  portion 
of  scripture.  He  had  laid  his  hand  on  the  sa 
cred  volume,  and  given  the  preparatory  hem, 
when  the  outer  door  unclosed,  and  a  light  step 
was  heard  traversing  the  long,  narrow  entry. 
The  sitting  room  door  was  flung  open. 


WALTUH  WILSON.  23 

1  Walter  ! ' — exclaimed  Mr.  Clark,  in  the 
deep  bass  tones  of  his  guttural  voice,  seizing 
one  of  the  youth's  hands. 

1  Walter  !' — screamed  aunt  Judy,  a  full  oc 
tave  above  the  highest  treble  notes  she  ever 
before  used — as  she  caught  the  other. 

'  Walter  !'  murmured  Fanny,  in  a  voice 
sweeter  to  his  ear  than  the  breathing  of  an 
.ZEolian  harp,  as  disengaging  himself  from  the 
grasp  of  her  father  and  aunt,  he  pressed  both 
her  hands  in  his,  and  while  she  sunk  into  the 
chair  from  which  she  had  partly  risen,  just 
touched  his  lips  to  her  forehead. 

The  action  was  unnoticed  by  aunt  Judy, 
who  had  stooped  to  pick  up  her  spectacles, 
which  had  fallen  in  her  hurry  to  welcome  Wal 
ter  ;  and  which  she  would  not  have  had  broken, 
for  a  kiss  from  the  handsomest  young  man  in 
the  universe.  If  Mr.  Clark  saw  the  slight 
caress,  the  smile  that  beamed  on  his  features, 
while  he  pointed  Walter  to  a  seat  in  his  usual 
place,  did  not,  argue  displeasure. 

1  What  is  the  matter  with  Fanny  now  ?'  said 
aunt  Judy.  '  I  shouldn't  think  Walter's  com 
ing  home  was  any  occasion  for  tears.' 

'  We  will  proceed  in  the  duties  of  the  eve 
ning,'  said  her  brother,  solemnly,  as  he  just 
glanced  on  his  daughter. 

'JXoiOP^yJb^v^JE-anny7l--&aid  Mr.  Clark  to 
Walter  the  next  day — '  but,  as  I  told  you  in 
my  letter,  you  must  not  marry  till  next  Novem 
ber.  Manage  for  yourself  one  year.  Go, 
hire  yourself  out,  and  be  steady  and  industri 
ous  ;  you  will  gain  much  useful  knowledge  ; 


24  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

and  next  fall  come  home  here,  and  you  shall 
be  as  my  own  son.  Fanny,  too,  has  need  of 
learning  many  things,  before  she  will  be  fitted 
to  manage  a  family.' 

'  Yes,  indeed,'  responded  aunt  Judy.  c  Fan 
ny  never  has  cared  whether  she  knew  how  to 
bake,  or  brew,  or  any  such  necessary  matters, 
if  she  could  only  skip  and  sing.  But  I  hope 
now  she  will  be  more  steady,  and  mind  how  I 
season  my  pies  ;  the  wedding  cake  I  shan't 
let  her  try  to  make,  for  it  would  be  a  bad  sign, 
besides  a  very  great  waste,  if  the  wedding  cake 
should  be  spoiled.' 

1  These  wild,  idle  boys  sometimes  succeed 
well,'  said  a  neighbour  to  the  grandfather  of 
Walter  Wilson.  *  There  is  your  grandson, 
he  has  married  the  richest  and  prettiest  girl 
in  the  county.  Who  would  have  guessed  it  ?' 

i  It  has  happened  just  as  I  intended,'  replied 
the  sagacious  old  man,  significantly  shaking 
his  head,  '  when  1  persuaded  the  child  to  live 
with  Mr.  Clark.  Walter  was  one  of  your  ro 
mantic,  hasty,  wayward  boys  ;  but  he  had  a 
good  heart  notwithstanding.  One  of  those 
tempers,  so  difficult  to  manage,  and  so  well 
worth  the  attempt  of  managing.  I  placed  him 
in  the  right  way,  and  he  is  now  so  trained  and 
bound,  that  habit  and  inclination  will  keep  him 
right.  His  own  ardor  and  ambition  will  soon 
carry  him  forward,  and  it  is  the  blessing  of  our 
happy  institutions,  that  merit  and  talents,  in 
whatever  station,  if  rightly  exerted,  will  com 
mand  respect,  and  ensure  success.  I  prophe 
sy,'  continued  the  old  man,  raising  himself  up 


WALTER  WILSON.  25 

with  a  lofty  air,  (  I  prophesy,  that  if  Walter 
Wilson  lives  twenty  years,  he  will  be  a  distin 
guished  man  !' 

There  is  now  a  large,  elegant  brick  mansion 
beneath  the  shade  of  those  old  elms,  that  once 
threw  their  arms  over  a  long,  low,  irregular 
building  ;  the  grounds,  and  everything  around, 
bespeak  the  owner  a  gentleman  of  industry, 
wealth,  and  taste\  and  the  address  of  that 
gentleman  is,  the  Hon.  Walter  Wilson. 


THE 

SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION. 

'  ' 


'< 


'  Old  mm  forget ;  yet  all  shall  not  be  forgot, 
But  they'll  remember  with  advantages, 
The  feats  they  did  that  day.' 


ALMOST  every  man,  who  is  advanced  in 
years,  has,  in  his  past  life,  some  particular 
period  which  is  remembered  with  peculiar  in 
terest.  The  circumstances  connected  with 
that  period  are  treasured  in  the  memory,  often 
repeated,  and  but  few  topics  of  conversation 
can  be  introduced  without  furnishing  an  oppor 
tunity  of  referring,  at  least,  if  not  expatiating 
on  the  important  affair.  It  is  deserving  of  no 
tice  that  what  is,  in  fact,  the  engrossing  pur 
suit  of  the  multitude,  namely,  the  acquisition 
of  wealth,  is  not,  even  by  the  most  devoted 
worldling,  accounted  matter  of  such  glorious 
triumph  as  those  deeds  which  shame  the  pro 
pensity  lie  is  indulging.  You  rarely  hear  such 
an  one  boast  of  the  cunning  bargain  which 
laid  the  foundation  of  his  fortune,  or  the  plod 
ding  thrift  by  which  he  accumulated  his  thou 
sands. 

Avarice  is  a  deep  rooted  passion  in  the  hu 
man  breast,  and  its-  gratification  ministers  to 


SOLDIER  OP  THE  REVOLUTION.  27 

vanity,  yet  none  are  vain  of  being  thought 
avaricious.  There  is  a  feeling  of  degradation 
in  the  mind,  if  known  to  place  its  sole  affections 
on  the  paltry,  perishable  things  of  earth,  which 
should  admonish  even  the  most  stupid,  of  that 
more  noble  destiny  which  man  was  formed 
capable  of  enjoying.  But  feats  of  personal 
strength  and  activity,  and '  "hair  breadth  'scapes' 
from  danger,  are  recounted  with  a  satisfaction 
commensurate  to  the  labors  performed,  and  the 
perils  encountered;  because  there  is  a  pride  of 
personal  desert  in  such  achievements  and  es 
capes.  But  above  all,  the  glory  gained  in  the 
tented  field,  is  the  theme  which  those  who 
have  any  claim  to  the  title  of  soldier,  are  the 
most  ambitious  to  display.  They  all  appear 
to  feel  somewhat  of  that  yearning  for  martial 
fame  which  agitated  the  princely  hero  of  Agin- 
court  when  he  exclaimed — 

'  By  Jove,  I  am  not  covetous  for  gold  ; 

Nor  care  I  who  doth  feed  upon  my  cost ; 

It  yearns  rne  not  if  men  my  garments  wear  ; 

Such  outward  things  dwell  not  in  my  desires  ; 

But  if  it  be  a  sin  to  covet  honor, 

I  am  the  most  offending  soul  alive.' 

Yet  whoever  has  heard,  or  read  the  narra 
tives  of  the  veterans  of  our  revolutionary  war, 
must  have  remarked  that  they  dwell  not  so 
much  on  the  detail  of  the  battles  and  skirmish 
es  in  which  they  were  engaged,  as  on  the  ef 
fect  those  actions  had  in  deciding  the  contest 
in  favor  of  liberty  and  independence.  The 
causes  which  roused  the  Americans  to  take  up 
arms,  were  most  favorable  to  the  developement 


28  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

•of  the  virtuous  energies  of  men,  and  conse 
quently  that  recklessness  of  moral  character 
and  abandonment  of  pious  principles,  which 
too  often  fatally  distinguishes  the  mass  of  that 
profession,  when  composed  of  hired  merce 
naries,  never  attached  to  the  soldiers  of  our 
armies.  It  was  doubtless  matter  of  astonish 
ment  to  the  governments  of  Europe,  that  no 
disturbance  followed  the  disbanding  of  the 
American  troops  ;  those  foreigners  did  not 
know  that  our  soldiers,  when  assuming  that 
name,  never  abandoned  the  one  of  citizens. 
In  fact  the  latter  was  the  most  gratifying  to 
those  who  fought  the  battles  of  freedom, — and 
when  the  necessity  for  farther  resistance  ceas 
ed,  they  gladly  relinquished  their  weapons  and 
returned  to  the  firesides  their  valor  had  pre 
served  from  insult  and  spoliation.  It  was  their 
boast  to  have  fought  for  their  country,  and 
to  their  country  they  cheerfully  resigned  the 
laurels  they  had  won.  This  generous  devoted- 
ness  of  the  American  soldiery  to  the  principles 
of  liberty  and  equal  rights,  and  their  prompt 
obedience  to  civil  government,  have  no  paral 
lel  in  history.  They  have  never  been  ade 
quately  rewarded,  but  let  them  be  gratefully 
remembered.  They  deserve  to  have  their 
deeds  the  theme  of  story,  and  of  song  ;  and  a 
sketch  of  one  of  those  veterans  will  not  surely 
be  considered  inappropriate  in  a  work  like  this, 
especially  by  those  who  consider  how  much 
the  ladies  of  America  are  indebted  to  the  free 
institutions  established  by  the  war  of  the  Revo- 


SOLDIER  OP  THE  REVOLUTION.  29 

lution,  for  their  inestimable  privileges  of  edu 
cation,  and  that  elevation  of  character  and 
sentiment  they  now  possess. 

4  This  walk  has  quite  tired  me,'  said  old 
Captain  Blake,  seating  himself  in  his  capacious 
armed  chair,  and  placing  one  foot  on  the  low 
stool  his  grandaughter  Maria  arranged  for 
his  accommodation.  '  A  little  matter  over 
comes  me  now,  I  find.  Maria,  my  love,  bring 
me  a  tumbler  of  beer.  Well,  Mr.  Freeman, 
you  look  as  if  nothing  could  fatigue  you  ;  and 
1  have  seen  the  time  when  I  thought  no  more 
of  walking  a  dozen  miles,  than  I  do  now  of 
creeping  as  many  rods.  I  remember  when  I 
marched  with  General  Starke  to  Bennington — 
that  was  the  first  time  I  went  as  a  soldier.  I 
was  then  just  twenty,  and  I  carried  my  gun 
and  ammunition,  and  a  huge  knapsack,  con 
taining  clothing  and  provisions,  for  my  kind 
mother  was  very  much  afraid  I  should  suffer 
with  hunger;  and  I  marched  with  all  that  load 
about  forty  miles  in  one  day,  and  never  thought 
of  complaining.' 

i  You  had  then  a  glorious  object  in  view  to 
animate  your  spirit,'  said  Horace  Freeman. 

1  Yes,  and  we  obtained  it,'  replied  the  old 
gentleman,  briskly,  sitting  upright  in  his  chair  ; 
*  and  the  country  is  now  enjoying  the  reward 
of  our  labors  and  sufferings.  Those  were 
dark  days,'  he  continued,  with  the  air  of  one 
who  is  endeavouring  to  recall  ideas  of  scenes 
and  feelings  long  past,  and  almost,  forgotten. 
'  Dark  days  and  perilous  times  for  America, 
Mr.  Freeman  ; — and  the  events  of  that  period 


30  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

cannot  be  too  often  related  to  the  rising  gene 
ration.' 

He  paused,  and  seemed  gathering  strength 
and  breath  for  a  long  harangue,  and  the  young 
people  expected  the  history  of  his  three  cam 
paigns.  Horace  Freeman  had  heard  the  whole 
just  six  times  over,  and  Maria  at  least  sixty — 
but  she  was  never  tired  of  listening  to  her 
grandfather,  and  Horace,  if  he  might  but  look 
on  her,  could  listen  very  patiently. 

It  is  probable  the  old  gentleman  noticed  the 
glances  interchanged  by  the  lovers,  and  that 
they  recalled  forcibly  to  his  mind  some  passa 
ges  in  his  early  life — at  least,  it  might  have 
been  so  inferred,  as  the  circumstances  he  pro 
ceeded  to  narrate  he  had  never  before  been 
heard  to  mention. 

Captain  Blake  resumed — l  It  is  easy  for  you 
young  men  to  imagine  the  deeds  of  valor  you 
should  have  performed,  had  you  lived  in  the 
days  that  tried  men's  souls — but  it  is  not  in 
the  battle  that  the  heart  or  courage  is  most 
severely  tested.  Indeed  there  are  but  few 
men  who  feel  any  fear  to  fight  when  once  the 
engagement  has  begun  ;  'tis  the  anticipation 
of  the  combat  that  makes  cowards,  and  some 
times  brave  men  tremble.  But  the  most  pain 
ful  moment  of  a  soldier's  life,  at  least  of  those 
who  have  a  dear  home  and  kind  friends,  is 
when  they  part  from  them.  I  said  the  expedi 
tion  under  General  Starke  was  the  first  I  join 
ed.  When  the  news  of  the  Lexington  battle 
arrived,  I  was  eager  to  be  a  soldier — but  my 
father  objected.  *  No,  my  son,'  he  said,  '  you 


SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  31 

are  not  yet  arrived  at  your  full  strength,  and 
the  country  requires  the  assistance  of  men.  I 
will  go.'  And  he  went,  and  fought  at  Bunker 
Hill — and  in  the  retreat  across  Charlestown 
neck  he  was  wounded  by  a  cannon  ball  from 
the  British  man  of  war.  The  ball  shattered 
his  right  knee,  and  amputation  was  found  ne 
cessary.  It  was  some  time  before  he  could  be 
brought  home,  and  he  never  recovered  his  for 
mer  health.  My  father  was  a  poor,  but.  a  very 
respectable  man;  for  in  those  days  the  display 
of  wealth  was  not  necessary  to  make  a  man 
respected,  (jypod  sense,  industry,  e&onomy 
aiid  piety  were  passports  to  the  best  society 
among  the  descendants  of  the  pilgrims.  My 
father  possessed  all  these  requisites  ;  and, 
moreover,  his  reputation  for  personal  courage 
and  tried.-4iatrjotism  was  firrnty~e"sTablished, — 
for  who  coulfl  doubt  either,  when  his  harangues, 
justifying  the  proceedings  of  Congress  and 
condemning  the  British  ministry,  were  always 
followed  by  a  vivid  description  of  the  Bunker 
Hill  battle,  and  the  pain  he  endured  from  his 
wound;  the  whole  closed  by  the  solemn  dec 
laration,  that  his  greatest  anxiety  and  distress, 
during  the  whole  operation  on  his  limb,  arose 
from  the  conviction  that  he  was  for  the  future 
incapacitated  from  taking  an  active  part  in  de 
fending  the  liberty  of  his  country.  My  father 
had  one  enemy  and  opponent.  This  was  a 
man  by  the  name  of  Saunders,  our  nearest 
neighbour.  They  moved  into  the  wilderness 
together,  and  it  might  have  been  expected  that 
mutual  hardships  would  have  made  them  mu- 


32  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

tual  friends.  But,  in  the  first  place,  there  was 
no  similarity  of  mind  or  temper  between  them 
— and  in  the  second  place,  Saunders  married 
a  rich  wife;  giving  him  an  advantage  in  point 
of  property,  which  he  was  very  fond  of  display 
ing.  My  father,  though  various  untoward  ac 
cidents  kept  him  poor,  was  nevertheless  proud, 
and  knew  his  own  abilities  were  far  superior 
to  those  of  his  neighbour;  and  so,  the  more  os 
tentatiously  Saunders  displayed  his  wealth,  the 
more  contemptuously  my  father  treated  his 
opinions.  There  was  scarcely  a  point  on 
which  they  agreed  ;  and  when  the  troubles  be 
tween  Great  Britain  and  the  Colonies  com 
menced,  they  immediately  took  different  sides  ; 
my  father  was  a  flaming  whig,  and  it  was  per 
haps  as  much  to  avoid  being  termed  a  follower 
of  his,  for  my  father  always  took  the  lead  in 
town  meetings, — as  from  principle,  that  Saun 
ders  declared  himself  for  the  government. 

It  would  be  a  curious  inquiry  to  trace  the 
operation  of  the  causes  that  have  contributed 
to  establish  those  principles,  which  men  often 
boast  of  having  adopted  solely  from  a  convic 
tion  of  their  truth  and  usefulness.  How  much 
of  personal  convenience,  of  private  pique,  of 
selfishness,  envy,  anger  or  ambition,  would  be 
found  to  mingle  in  the  motives  of  the  patriot 
and  the  politician  !  But  this  we  will  not  now 
discuss.  l^JVIy  father  was  a  firm  friend  of  his 
country,  and  a  fervent  Christian  ;  but  he  had, 
like  other  good  men,  his  infirmities  ;  and  among 
them,  perhaps  none  was  more  conspicuous 
persevering  habit  of  advancing  his  owa 


SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  33 

sentiments  on  almost  every  occasion,  and  a 
dogmatical  obstinacy  in  defending  them.  And 
he  availed  himself  to  the  utmost  of  the  advan 
tage  which  the  popularity  of  his  own  opinions 
gave  him  over  his  adversary.  Though  I  em 
braced  with  enthusiasm  my  father's  political 
sentiments,  yet  one  reason  made  me  regret, 
very  much,  the  animosity  that  seemed  every 
day  more  bitter,  between  him  and  Mr.  Saun- 
ders.  There  was  a  fair  girl  in  the  case,  and  I 
was  just  at  the  age  when  the  affections  of  the 
heart  are  most  warm  and  romantic.  Mary 
Saunders  was  not  an  extraordinary  beauty  :  I 
have  seen  fairer  girls  than  she  ;  but  I  never 
saw  one  whose  expression  of  countenance 
was  more  indicative  of  purity  of  mind  and 
sweetness  of  temper.  But  you  can  judge  for 
yourself,  Mr.  Freeman,  for  Maria  here  is  her 
very  image — all  but  the  eyes.  Mary  Saunders 
had  black  eyes  ;  and  black  is,  in  my  opinion, 
much  the  handsomest  color  for  the  eye,  and 
generally  the  most  expressive.  Maria's  eyes, 
you  see,  are  blue — do,  my  love,  look  up — but 
their  expression  is  very  much  like  her  grand 
mother's  eyes.' 

Horace  Freeman  was  doubtless  very  glad 
of  an  opportunity  of  examining,  and  that  too 
by  the  permission  of  her  guardian,  the  eyes 
of  the  girl  he  adored  ;  but  her  confusion  and 
blushes  admonished  him  that  the  indulgence 
of  his  passion  was  fraught  with  pain  to  the  ob 
ject  of  his  affection,  and  he  endeavoured  to 
change  the  conversation  to  the  subject  of  the 
battle  of  Bennington. 


34  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

'  You  observed,  you  accompanied  General 
Starke,'  said  he  to  the  old  man  ;  '  were  you 
present  when  the  tories  under  Baum  were 
defeated  ? ' 

'  Was  I  ? '  returned  the  old  gentleman,  his 
eyes  flashing  with  the  keenness  of  youthful  ar 
dor — '  I  guess  I  was,  and  I  believe  I  have  told 
vou  the  whole  story  ;  nevertheless  I  will  de 
tail  it  again,  some  time,  as  I  find  you  like  to 
hear  such  accounts,  as  indeed  all  sensible 
young  men  do  ;  but  now  I  was  intending  more 
particularly  to  tell  my  own  feelings  arid  views 
when  I  first  left  home.  Accounts  of  battles  are 
quite  common,  but  we  seldom  read  or  hear  a 
description  of  that  warfare  of  mind  which  every 
soldier  must  undergo  when  he,  for  the  first 
time,  girds  himself  and  goes  forth  to  fight. 
I  said  I  loved  Mary  Saunders,  and  she  return 
ed  my  affection  ;  but  the  difficulties,  every 
day  increasing,  between  our  families,  threat 
ened  to  prevent  our  intercourse.  Mr.  Saun 
ders  was  the  first  to  object,  and  he  intimated 
that  my  father  encouraged  the  match,  notwith 
standing  his  pretended  aversion  to  tories,  be 
cause  he  thought  it  advantageous.  This  ac 
cusation  kindled  my  father's  anger  to  a  high 
degree,  for  nothing  roused  his  spirit  like  a 
charge  of  meanness — and  so  he  absolutely 
prohibited  me  from  seeing  or  speaking  to  Ma 
ry,  or  corresponding  with  her  in  any  manner. 
How  absurdly  our  passions  arc  often  allowed 
to  control  our  reason  and  judgment,  and  even 
our  inclination.  At  the  time  when  Mary  and 
I  were  thus  positively  forbidden  to  meet 


SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION".  35 

had  our  fathers  spoken  their  real  sentiments,  I 
am  persuaded  they  would  both  of  them  have 
approved  our  affection  for  each  other.  I  was 
always  a  favorite  with  Mr.  Saunders,  and  as 
Mary  was  an  only  child,  and  had  no  compan 
ion  at  home,  she  had  passed  much  of  her  time 
with  my  sisters,  and  my  parents  had  seemed 
equally  fond  of  her  as  of  their  own  daughters. 
But  now  all  intercourse  between  the  families 
was  annihilated,  and  for  us  to  have  met,  would 
have  been  considered  a  great  crime. 

Party  spirit  was  then,  and  always  will  be, 
wherever  indulged,  the  bane  of  society  and 
good  neighbourhood.  But  the  peculiar  circum 
stances  in  which  the  whigs  were  placed  justi 
fied,  in  some  measure,  the  asperity  they  cher 
ished  against  all  denominated  tories.  There 
are  some  nowadays  that  write  histories  of  that 
war,  and  pretend  to  describe  the  feelings  and 
spirit  that  then  pervaded  America,  but  this 
cannot  be  done.  There  was  at  that  time  agi 
tation  in  the  minds  of  men  which  words  can 
never  describe.  The  uncertainty  that  hung 
over  the  destiny  of  our  country,  the  exertions 
and  sacrifices  that  all  good  patriots  felt  must 
be  made  before  success  could  be  hoped  for — 
the  possibility  of  a  failure,  and  a  dread  of 
the  consequences  that  must  ensue,  all  these 
thoughts  pressed  on  the  soul,  filling  it  with  an 
indescribable  anxiety  and  gloom.  But  though 
there  was,  sometimes,  in  the  mind  of  the  firm 
est  and  most  determined  patriot,  doubt,  there 
was  seldom  dismay.  He  considered  the  prin 
ciples  for  which  he  contended  so  important, 


36  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

and  the  prize  so  glorious,  that  even  though 
assured  that  he  could  not  have  succeeded,  he 
would  not  have  yielded.  l  Give  me  liberty 
or  give  me  death  !'  was  not  the  motto  of  Pat 
rick  Henry  only, — thousands  of  our  citizens 
subscribed  to  the  same  sentiment.  I  remem 
ber  when  the  news  of  the  approach  of  Bur- 
goyne's  army,  and  the  retreat  of  the  Americans 
from  Ticonderoga,  reached  us.  We  were  at 
dinner  when  a  messenger,  sent  by  General  St. 
Clair,  to  rouse  the  inhabitants  of  New-Hamp 
shire  to  come  to  the  assistance  of  the  retreat 
ing  army,  entered  our  house  abruptly,  with 
out  even  the  ceremony  of  rapping  at  the  door. 
The  dress  of  the  man  showed  him  to  be  a  sol 
dier,  and  his  countenance  displayed  such  deep 
concern,  that  my  father  seemed  instantly  to 
guess  his  errand.  He  dropped  his  knife  and 
fork,  and  turning  his  chair  so  as  to  face  the 
messenger,  demanded  his  news.  I  was  always 
something  of  a  physiognomist,  and  while  the 
man  related  the  disasters  that  had  befallen  our 
troops,  and  described  the  numbers  and  appear 
ance  of  the  British  army,  I  watched  my  fa 
ther's  features,  and  never  did  I  see  such  an 
expression  as  his  then  displayed.  During  the 
first  part  of  the  recital  there  was  an  eagerness, 
an  agitation,  a  quivering  of  the  lips  and  eye 
lids,  that  showed  the  deep,  even  painful  sym 
pathy  he  felt  for  the  embarrassments  of  the 
American  general — but  when  the  royal  com 
mander  was  named,  his  brow  instantly  con 
tracted,  his  eye  dilated,  every  muscle  of  his 
face  grew  rigid  as  with  determined  resolve; 


SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  37 

and  the  stern  expression  of  his  features  seem 
ed  bidding  defiance  to  the  whole  British  army. 
At  length,  while  the  man  was  proceeding  to 
describe  the  proud  array  of  the  invading  foe, 
and  the  number  of  the  Indian  allies,  my  fa 
ther  suddenly  struck  his  clenched  hand  on  the 
table,  with  a  force  and  clatter  that  made  all 
the  children  instantly  start  from  their  seats, 
while  he  exclaimed — •<  0  !  if  it  had  only  been 
God's  will  that  1  should  have  kept  my  leg,  I 
would  soon  be  on  the  ground  and  show  them 
red  coats  the  rnetal  of  a  Yankee.'  I  caught 
his  eye  as  he  ceased,  and  there  was  an  instant 
change  in  his  countenance.  I  presume  he 
noticed  the  eagerness  of  my  look,  for  there 
was  nothing  on  earth,  except  to  see  Mary,  that 
I  then  longed  so  much  to  do  as  to  become  a 
soldier.  This  my  father  had  never  appeared 
willing  to  permit.  He  could  face  danger  with 
out  shrinking,  but  he  trembled  for  me.  I  urg 
ed  my  wishes  to  go.  He  appeared  for  a  few 
moments  irresolute — drew  his  hand  twice 
across  his  forehead,  and  then  calmly  said — 
*  My  son,  you  may  go.  The  crisis  demands 
the  sacrifice  of  all  selfish  and  private  feelings 
on  the  part  of  Americans — You  shall  go.' 

To  know  the  whole  merit  of  the  sacrifice  my 
father  then  made,  it  will  be  necessary  to  state 
that  I  was  the  eldest  of  eleven  children,  all 
girls,  excepting  myself  and  the  youngest  babe. 
My  father  was  not  able  to  do  any  labor — it  was 
in  the  month  of  July,  when  the  farmer  has,  ne 
cessarily,  so  much  business  on  his  hands,  and 
yet  I  am  persuaded  there  was  not  one  self-in- 


38  AMERICAN  SKETCHES 

terested  motive,  excepting  his  fears  of  the  dan 
ger  to  which  I  would  be  exposed,  that  caused 
his  hesitation. 

It  is  impossible,  in  these  days  of  peace  and 
plenty,  to  estimate  truly  tjie  generous,  devoted, 
self-denying  spirit  that  was  exhibited  during 
the  revolution.  The  thirst  for  private  gain, 
that  is  now  so  engrossing,  was  then  a  feeble 
passion,  compared  with  the  ardor  to  promote 
the  public  good  ;  and  the  final  success  of  our 
arms  is  mainly  to  be  attributed  to  the  virtue 
and  patriotism  of  the  people.  We  had,  to  be 
sure,  a  commander  worthy  of  our  cause  and 
country,  one  undoubtedly  designed  and  prepar 
ed  by  Heaven  for  the  task  he  performed — but 
then,  his  powers  and  those  of  the  Congress 
were  so  limited,  he  never  would  have  succeed 
ed,  but  for  the  zealous  and  spontaneous  co-op 
eration  of  our  citizens.  But  I  am  wandering 
from  the  subject  of  my  own  feelings,'  he  con 
tinued,  smiling,  '  as  indeed  I  am  very  apt  to 
do  whenever  1  begin  to  think,  or  speak  of  the 
public  excitement.  But  to  comprehend  right 
ly  an  old  man's  story,  you  must  allow  him  to 
tell  it  in  his  own  way.  Often  when  he  appears 
to  wander  the  most  widely  from  his  purpose,  it 
is  not  that  he  forgets  it,  but  because  so  many 
circumstances,  which  he  thinks  important,  con 
nected  with  the  event  he  would  relate,  press 
on  his  mind,  that  he  fears  you  will  not  get  a 
right  understanding  of  his  subject,  unless  he 
relates  all  those  circumstances.  It  is  not  so 
often  from  loss  of  memory  that  the  aged  are 
garrulous,  as  from  remembering  too  much. 


SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  39 

It  was  settled  I  should  depart  next  morning, 
and  all  was  bustle  to  prepare  me  for  the  expe 
dition. 

My  father  would  himseli  inspect  and  arrange 
my  military  equipments.  I  had  an  excellent 
rifle,  and  a  sufficient  quantity  of  powder,  but  no 
bullets — but  that  deficiency  was  soon  suppli 
ed.  My  mother  tendered  her  pewter  basons, 
and  we  manufactured  a  sufficient  quantity  of 
shot  to  kill  a  whole  regiment.  My  mother 
also  packed  among  my  clothes  a  huge  roll 
of  linen,  for  bandages,  remarking  as  she  did 
so,  that  she  hoped  I  would  not  need  it,  but 
I  might  perhaps  have  it  in  my  power  to  bind 
up  the  wounds  of  some  poor  creature.  At 
that  time  the  soldier  had  often  to  carry  about 
him  his  hospital,  as  well  as  magazine.  During 
all  this  my  parents  neither  shed  a  tear  nor  ut 
tered  a  desponding  word  ;  they  even  reprov 
ed  my  sisters  for  weeping,  saying,  that  tears 
should  be  reserved  for  the  dead — that  they 
ought  to  rejoice  they  had  a  brother  capable 
and  willing  to  defend  his  country  and  family 
from  the  ruthless  savages  ;  and  thatjGrod  would 
not^  suffer  the  injustice  of  their  oppressors  long 
to_  triumph,  if  every  American  did  his  duty. 
In  the  mean  time,  my  own  mind  was  suffering 
a  severe  conflict.  I  did  not  fear  the  battle — 1 
longed  to  engage  in  the  fight  ;  but  there  was 
something  in  this  preparation  for  wounds  and 
death,  that  could  not  but  be  somewhat  appal 
ling  to  one  who  had  always  lived  in  the  securi 
ty  and  shelter  of  home.  I  reflected  on  the  pos 
sibility  that  I  might  never  see  that  home  again. 


40 


AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 


All  the  kindness  and  affection  of  my  parents 
and  sisters,  came  fresh  to  my  mind.  The  hap 
py  circle  we  had  always  formed  around  the 
rireside  would  be  broken,  and  I  knew  there 
would  be  mourning  for  me.  But  there  was 
one  who  I  thought  would  weep  bitter  tears.  I 
had  not  seen  Mary,  excepting  at  church,  for 
more  than  six  months  ;  but  I  gathered  from 
the  expression  of  her  countenance,  that  her  re 
gard  for  me  was  unaltered.  She  had  doubtless 
suffered  more  from  the  separation  than  I.  Wo 
men  are  more  constant  in  their  attachments 
than  men,  and  they  have  fewer  employments 
and  resources  to  vary  the  current  of  their 
thoughts,  and  a  disappointment  of  the  heart  is 
to  them  a  constantly  corroding  sorrow.  Mary 
had  grown  very  pale  and  thin,  and  when  I  ga 
zed  on  her  as  she  joined  in  singing  the  praises 
of  God,  I  had  often  felt  as  if  she  must  soon  be 
transferred  to  a  happier  world.  And  I  had 
sometimes  taxed  my  father  with  cruelty  and 
injustice,  in  separating  us,  though,  at  the  same 
tune,  I  respected  the  high  minded  integrity 
that  dictated  the  command  ;  but  I  had  never 
thought  of  disobeying  him.  He  had  in  his 
look  and  manner,  that  kind  of  authority  which 
seems  to  be  delegated  from  Heaven,  and  which 
will  not  brook  to  be  disregarded  ;  such  as  we 
may  imagine  distinguished  the  patriarchs.  Our 
pilgrim  ancestors  possessed  this  domestic  au 
thority  in  an  eminent  degree;  and  their  descend 
ants  for  several  generations  inherited  it,  though 
less  dignified — but  it  now  seems  to  be  nearly 
extinct.  Whether  it  was  on  the  whole,  more 


SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  41 

favorable  to  human  improvement  in  virtue  and 
happiness,  than  the  prc.srnt  reasoning  manner 
of  family  government,  is  a  question  I  have  nev 
er  seen  decided.  I  wish  some  one  qualified 
for  the  task  would  give  us  their  opinion  on  the 
subject.  But  to  return  to  Mary,  from  whom 
my  thoughts  then  seldom  wandered.  I  could 
not  endure  the  idea  of  leaving  home  without 
seeing  her.  I  went  to  my  father — I  trembled 
in  every  joint,  and  the  sweat  started  in  large 
drops  on  my  forehead,  but  nevertheless  I  re 
tained  sufficient  firmness  to  tell  him  I  must 
and  would  see  Mary  ;  that  I  wished  for  his 
consent  to  visit  her,  and  that  perhaps  it  was 
the  last  request  I  should  ever  make  him  ;  and 
then  I  added,  that  if  I  lived  to  return,  I  would 
still  be  as  obedient  to  his  commands  as  I  had 
hitherto  been.  How  I  summoned  sufficient 
courage  to  tell  him  so  much,  was  afterwards  to 
me  a  matter  of  astonishment  ;  it  might  be  that 
I  felt  rather  more  boldness  from  knowing  I  was 
soon  to  be  a  soldier. 

I  believe  my  father's  first  impulse  was  to  re 
buke  and  refuse  me,  for  he  assumed  one  of  his 
stern  looks  that  always  quelled  all  opposition 
— but  luckily  for  us  both,  he  looked  in  my  face, 
and  I  suspect  he  became  sensible  I  was  not  in 
a  state  to  bear  rebuke  or  disappointment.  His 
first  words  were,  <  Do  you  wish  to  be  friends 
with  the  enemies  of  your  country,  with  trai 
tors  ? ' 

I  said,  No — but  that  Mary  was  not  an  enemy  , 
of  her  country. 

*  But  her  father  is,'  he  replied,  l  and  children 
4 


42  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

do  adopt,  indeed  they  ought  to  adopt,  the  opin 
ions  of  their  parents.' 

i  Not  if  they  think  that  opinion  wrong,'  said 
I.  l  And  I  have  told  you  before  that  Mary 
does  not  approve  her  father's  sentiments,  and 
that  she  ought  not  to  be  judged  and  condemn 
ed  on  his  account.' 

i  I  know,'  he  replied,  '  that  you  think  favor 
ably  of  her.  At  your  age  this  is  not  strange, 
but  remember,  that  though  I  do  not  forbid  your 
seeing  her,  if  you  insist  upon  it,  I  warn  you  of 
the  consequences.  The  path  of  duty  is  now 
plain  before  you  ;  it  is  to  fight  .manfully  for 
liberty  and  independence.  You  seem  to  have 
such  strength  and  courage  given  you,  as  we 
may  hope  will  bear  you  up  ;  but  if  you  join 
hands  with  those  who  are  wishing  to  riot  in  the 
blood  of  their  country,  you  will  probably  be 
forsaken  by  Him  who  is  the  Cod  of  battles^ 

There  was  in  my  father's  manner  a  solemn 
ity  that  awed  me,  but  still  his  prophetic  warn 
ing  had  no  effect  to  deter  me  from  my  purpose 
of  seeing  Mary.  I  knew,  what  my  father 
would  riot  credit,  that  she  was  an  enthusiast  in 
the  cause  of  her  country,  though  the  mildness 
and  modesty  of  her  disposition,  and  respect  for 
her  parent,  restrained  her  from  openly  expres 
sing  her  sentiment*.  Indeed,  it  is  worthy  of 
notice  that  during  the  whole  war,  the  Ameri 
can  women  were  almost  universally  patriots  ; 
and  they  cnroimlored  their  full  share  of  priva 
tion  and  sufierinir,  and  that  too  with  a  cheer 
fulness  and  fortitude  that,  often  infused  courage 
and  vigor  into  the  hearts  of  the  almost  despond- 


SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  43 

ing  soldiery.  And  they  not  only  submitted  to 
separations  from  their  friends  without  murmur 
ing,  but  they  exerted  themselves  to  provide 
for  their  families  at  home,  by  performing  much 
of  the  labor  apd  business  that  usually  devolves 
on  the  men.  A  volume  of  anecdotes  might  be\ 
collected  of  the  heroism  and  devotion  to  free 
dom,  manifested  by  the  ladies  during  that  pe 
riod.  There  were  wives,  and  mothers,  and 
sisters,  who  encouraged  and  assisted  to  pre 
pare  for  the  battle,  those  they  held  dearest  on 
earth.  And  there  were  maidens  who  animated 
their  betrothed  lovers  for  the  fight.  I  was  con 
fident  Mary  was  not  deficient  in  this  generous 
self-denying  spirit,  and  I  had  no  fear  she  would 
exert  her  power  over  me  by  endeavouring  to 
dissuade  me  from  going  into  the  army.  J  did 
not  then  hesitate  a  moment  on  my  own  account; 
but  I  had  to  procure  the  consent  of  her  father, 
as  well  as  mine,  for  the  meeting.  I  wrote  to 
Mr.  Saunders,  and  very  respectfully  requested 
permission  to  visit  his  daughter,  stating  my 
reasons,  and  that  my  father  had  consented.  I 
afterwards  learned  it  was  that  which  made  Mr. 
Saunders  object.  He  would  agree  to  nothing 
that  my  father  approved.  He  wrote  me  a 
very  cool  and  provoking  answer,  in  which  he 
took  care  to  repeat  all  the  account  of  Bur- 
goyne's  success,  and  warn  me  against  joining 
in  a  sinking  cause  ;  and  he  concluded  by 
declaring  he  would  not  allow  one  who  was 
intending  to  fight  against  his  sovereign  to  visit 
at  his  house,  and  that  his  daughter  entirely 
agreed  with  him  in  opinion.  I  was  never  so 


44  AMERICAN  ?KETCirE?. 

disappointed  in  my  life,  and  I  do  not  remember 
that  I  was  ever  more  angry.  The  more  so 
perhaps,  because  my  father  seemed  to  enjoy 
my  chagrin.  I  did  not  believe  Mary  was  thus 
indifferent  about  seeing  me  ;  but  still  a  young 
man  scarce  twenty,  and  a  lover  beside,  is  not 
usually  the  most  reasonable  being  under  the 
sun.  I  thought  of  a  thousand  things,  arid  im 
agined  a  thousand  improbable  events.  These 
were  some  of  my  fancies.  If  the  enemy  should 
succeed,  Saunders  would  doubtless  join  the? 
victorious  army,  at  least,  he  would  wish  to  pay 
his  compliments  to  Burgoyne;  and  he  might 
take  Mary  with  him  ;  and  I  was  too  deeply  in 
love  to  imagine  any  person  could  see  her  with 
indifference.  And  then  I  thought  it  probable 
some  English  officer  would  admire  her,  and 
succeed  in  gaining  her  hand- — and  then  I  felt 
as  if  I  could  annihilate  the  whole  British  host. 
While  I  was  indulging  in  one  of  these  par 
oxysms  of  feeling,  a  boy  'who  lived  with  Mr. 
Saunders  appeared  at  the  end  of  the  lane  lead 
ing  to  our  house.  I  knew  him  in  a  moment, 
although  it  was  nearly  dark,  and  hastened  to 
meet  him.  He  brought  me  a  letter  from  Ma 
ry.  I  know  you  expect.  I  treasured  that  let 
ter  in  my  mind,  and  remember  it  now — and 
though  it  may  sound  rather  silly  to  hear  an  old 
man  like  me,  saying  over  his  love-letters,  I  will 
repeat  it.  It  had  been  begun  with  '  Dear 
Samuel,' — but  those  words  had  been  scratched 
out,  though  not  so  entirely  but  I  could  trace 
them.  The  next  beginning  was — l  Vvrorthy 
Friend,  I  have  just  seen  a  letter  you  sent  my 


SOLDIER  OF  THE  REVOLUTION.  45 

father,  and  from  what  he  has  told  me,  I  fear 
you  will  think  I  am  ungrateful  and  have  for 
gotten  you.  But  this  I  never  shall  do.  I 
think  of  you  almost  constantly,  and  pray  that 
you  may  be  directed  in  the  path  of  duty.  I 
believe  you  are  now  pursuing  it.  I  feel  that 
our  country  needs  aid,  and  wish  I  could  ren 
der  it.  But  that  is  out  of  my  power  ;  but  if 
prayers  and  tears  could  avail  to  save  you  from 
harm,  I  would  offer  them  daily.  I  do  not  say 
this  to  discourage  you,  but  to  show  you  that  I 
approve  your  determination  to  be  a  soldier. 


JfiuJg  y°u<  -  Mary  Saunders. 
1  P.  S.  I  hope  you  will  not  forget  me.' 
c  Such  was  the  letter,  word  for  word,'  con 
tinued  the  old  man.  *  I  remember  it  well,  for 
I  carried  it  three  years  in  a  little  pocket  book, 
and  read  it  pretty  often,  as  you  doubtless  guess. 
It  was  at  the  time  a  precious  treasure,  for  it 
assured  me  of  Mary's  affection,  and  that  she 
approved  my  being  a  soldier,  and  perhaps  I 
departed  with  a  lighter  heart  than  I  should 
have  done  had  we  actually  met. 

Early  the  next  morning  every  thing  was 
prepared,  and  the  family  all  attended  while  my 
father  made  a  most  fervent  and  impressive 
prayer.  I  observed  that  he  dwelt  more  earn 
estly  on  the  salvation  of  his  country,  and  pray 
ed  more  heartily  that  the  men  who  were  going 
forth  might  have  strength  and  resolution  given 
them  to  conquer  their  proud  and  cruel  enemies, 
than  he  did  that  they  might  be  saved  from  dan 
ger  and  returned  in  safety.  When  he  conclud 
ed,  he  took  'my  hand  ;  the  pride  of  a  soldier 


46  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

was  in  his  eye  as  he  glanced  over  my  military 
equipments,  but  I  observed  a  moisture  there  ; 
and  when  he  spoke,  it  was  in  a  sharp,  quick 
tone,  as  if  he  feared  to  trust  the  expression  of 
his  feelings,  and  even  felt  angry  with  himself 
for  indulging  them.  '  Sam,'  said  he,  wringing 
my  hand  as  he  spoke.  '  Sam,  remember  you" 
duty.  Your  country  now  requires  your  servi- 
.  ces  ;  and  next  to  your  duty  to  God,  your  coun 
try's  claims  are  sacred.  Go,  and  fight  man 
fully  for  liberty.  Remember  it /is  "better  to Tlie 
free  than  live  a  slave.  Go,  and  God  bless 
you.' 

1  Samuel,'  said  my  mother,  taking  my  hand 
in  both  of  hers,  and  pressing  it  tenderly, «whilo 
the  tears  gushed  from  her  eyes — I  had  not 
seen  her  weep  before.  '  Samuel,  your  father 
has  told  you  what  is  your  duty,  and  I  know 
you  will  do  it.  I  shall  pray  for  you,  and  if  you 
are  hurt,  remember  the  bandages  and  salve. 
I  have  put  some  salve  into  your  pack,  that  is 
very  excellent  for  wounds.  Heaven  keep  you 
— farewell.' 

I  do  not  particularly  remember  what  my 
sisters  said,  nor  indeed  distinctly  anything 
else  that  passed,  till  I  found  myself  on  the 
brow  of  a  hill  that  overlooked  the  farm  of  my 
father,  and  part  of  that  belonging  to  Mr.  Saun- 
ders.  I  paused  there,  and  looked  back  on  the 
scene  I  had  left.  The  sun  had  not  risen,  but 
the  eastern  sky,  as  if  preparing  for  his  coining, 
was  kindled  up  with  those  beautiful  hues  thai 
the  light  of  noonday  never  imparts.  I  saw  the 
green  woods  stretching  away  on  every  side  till 


SOLDIER  OP  THE  REVOLUTION.  47 

they  blended  with  the  blue  of  the  distant  moun 
tains.  In  those  woods  I  had  hunted  many  a 
time.  I  heard  the  birds  singing  their  morn 
ing  songs  ;  all  spoke  of  peace  except  the  shrill 
cry  of  the  jay,  and  that  sounded  in  my  ear  like 
a  call  to  battle.  Beneath  me  lay  the  fields  I 
had  traversed  so  often — the  windings  of  the 
little  brook,  the  boundary  that  divided  the  es 
tate  of  my  father  from  that  of  his  tory  neigh 
bor,  were  easily  to  be  traced  by  the  mist  that 
hung  over  it  ;  and  I  could  distinctly  see  the 
favorite  fishing  place  where  I  had  passed  many 
happy  hours.  And  then  there  was  the  home 
in  which  I  was  born,  and  the  trees  in  whose 
shade  I  had  so  often  played  with  my  sisters — 
and,  in  the  small  meadow,  a  seat  beneath  an 
old  elm,  where  Mary  and  I  had  often  met. 

I  saw  all  these,  and  the  recollections  they 
awakened,  and  the  thought  that,  in  all  proba 
bility,  I  should  never  see  that  spot,  and  those 
objects,  and  my  dear  family,  and  Mary,  again, 
came  so  painfully  on  my  heart  that  my  forti 
tude  was  overcome,  and  I  wept  and  even  sob 
bed  aloud.  I  was  in  the  battle  at  Bennington 
— I  fought  at  Saratoga — I  was  one  of  the  twen 
ty  under  the  command  of  Lieutenant  Knox  at 
the  capture  of  Stoney  Point — I  have  been 
wounded,  and  a  prisoner.  I  have  heard  bul 
lets  whistle  as  they  fell  like  hail,  and  seen  men 
dropping  around  me  like  leaves  in  autumn,  and 
I  have  been  in  want  of  a  crust  of  bread,  hut  I 
never  felt  that  fear,  that  utter  despondency, 
that  misgiving  of  spirit,  which  I  endured  when 
taking  my  leave  of  home.' 


48  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

c  But  you  did  return,  my  dear  grandfather,' 
said  Maria,  wiping  her  eyes.  i  You  did  see 
that  home  again  ?' 

'  Yes,'  he  replied, f  I  returned  to  dwell  there, 
and  I  married  Mary  ;  but,  it  was  after  my  con 
stitution  was  broken  by  fatigue  and  hardship, 
and  my  arm  rendered,  as  you  see,  nearly  use 
less  by  a  fracture  in  the  elbow.  Nor  had  Ma 
ry  been  exempt  from  sorrow  and  suffering. 
The  chagrin  her  father  endured  in  being,  as 
he  was,  confined  to  his  farm,  and  knowing  him 
self  the  object  of  suspicion,  hatred,  and  con 
tempt  of  his  neighbours,  and  the  disappoint 
ment  he  felt  at  the  failure  of  the  British  army, 
whose  triumph  he  had  so  confidently  predicted, 
all  these  things  troubled  him,  and  finally  un 
dermined  his  health.  lie  fell  into  a  consump 
tion  ;  but  before  he  died,  he  renounced  his  tory 
principles,  and  my  father  and  he  became  re 
conciled,  and  he  consented  I  should  marry  Ma 
ry.  And  so  when  I  returned  from  my  last 
campaign,  where  I  was  disabled,  by  this  wound 
in  my  arm,  from  further  service,  Mary  was 
the  first  to  welcome  me.  But  O  !  how  pale 
and  thin  she  looked.  You  young  people  have 
no  experience,  and  can  hardly  form  an  idea  of 
the  trials  we  had  endured.  But  we  had  the 
satisfaction  of  thinking  our  country  would  be 
free  and  independent  ;  and  it  is  so  :  and  yet 
few,  in  these  days  of  peace  and  prosperity, 
seem  to  remember  that  their  freedom  and  priv 
ileges  were  purchased  by  the  sweat,  and  toils, 
and  blood,  of  the  old  soldier.' 


THE 
WEDDING  AND   THE   FUNERAL. 


<O,  thou  invisible  spirit  of  brandy,  if  thou  hast  no  name  to  be 
known  by,  let  us  call  tliee  —  murderer  ."  SHAKSPEARE. 

THERE  was  a  great  bustle  in  the  village  of 
B  -  when  .James  Murray,  Esq.  was  married 
to  Lucy  Marsh^  Weddings  are  always,  es 
pecially  by  the  ladies,  considered  important 
occasions  ;  and  the  marriage  of  a  rich  and  dis 
tinguished  young  man  with  the  most  beautiful 
and  amiable  girl  the  country  could  boast,  af 
forded  matter  of  description  for  many  a  tea  par 
ty,  and  speculation  for  many  a  fireside.  'They 
tell  me  the  furnishing  of  the  house  cost  James 
all  of  three  thousand  dollars,'  said  Mrs.  Col- 
vin;  4I  wonder  what  his  father,  poor  man, 
would  say,  were  he  living,  to  see  such  extrava 
gance  and  waste  !' 

'  Waste  do  you  call  it  ?'  said  Miss  Lucretia 
Crane,  elevating  her  long  neck  as  she  gave  her 
head  a  most  supercilious  toss  —  '  Why,  it  is 
nothing  more  than  is  necessary,  if  one  intends 
living  genteelly  in  the  country  ;  they  would 
hardly  call  it  decent  in  Boston.  The  only 
thing  that  gives  me  any  uneasiness,  is,  that 
o 


50  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Lucy  will  not  understand  how  to  arrange  her 
furniture  and  order  her  table  in  good  style. 
A  great  deal  depends  on  being  accustomed  to 
such  things — and  though  Lucy  has  had  a  tole 
rably  good  education,  she  is  not  highly  accom 
plished,  and  has  never  had  her  taste  improved 
by  mingling  among  fashionable  society.  And 
her  parents  were  so  poor  she  could  not  learn 
much  at  home.' 

'  She  learned  to  work,'  observed  Mr.  Colvin, 
dryly — '  and  that,  allow  me  to  say,  Miss  Crane, 
if  not  a  high  accomplishment,  is  an  indispensa 
ble  one  for  every  American  lady.  It  is  true, 
the  wife  of  James  Murray  appears  to  be  placed 
above  the  necessity  of  exertion  ;  but  sudden 
changes  of  property  are  more  common  among 
men  of  his  vocation  than  any  other  ;  indeed, 
changes  in  every  station  frequently  occur,  and 
that  parent  who  does  not  accustom  his  children 
to  reflect  on  a  probability  of  a  reverse,  and,  to 
the  best  of  his  ability,  qualify  them  to  support 
it,  is,  in  my  opinion,  not  only  weak  but  cruel. 
Lucy  is  not,  I  fear,  in  spirit,  very  well  calcu 
lated  to  bear  misfortunes — she  is  too  tender 
and  confiding — but  she  has  always  been  an  in 
dustrious  girl.' 

1  It  might  have  been  better  for  her  to  have 
kept  to  her  needle,  and  married  John  Russell, 
as  I  am  well  convinced  she  was  once  engaged 
to  do' — replied  Miss  Lucretia,  with  that  kind 
of  laugh  which  betrays  both  envy  of  a  rival, 
and  exultation  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  her 
mortified. — '  I  have  been  told' — she  continued 
in  a  low  but  eager  whisper,  ( I  have  been  told 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  51 

that  James  does  not  always  conduct  like  the 
gentleman  he  pretends  to  be.' 

'  We  should  be  cautious  of  trusting  reports 
affecting  the  character  of  our  neighbours,'  said 
Mrs.  Colvin,  forgetting  that  she  had  began  the 
scrutiny  by  taxing  James  with  extravagance. 
'  James  is  a  generous,  intelligent,  and  agreea 
ble  gefitleman,  and  his  talents  do  honor  to  our 
village.  What  did  you  ever  hear  to  his  disad 
vantage  ?' 

i  0  they  do  say  he  has  been  known  to  take 
a  little  drop  too  much — at  particular  times — 
when  in  wild  company.  At  least  my  brother 
heard  he  did  so  when  in  college,'  replied  Miss 
Crane. 

'  It  cannot — must  not  be  true,'  said  Mr.  Col 
vin,  hastily.  '  James,  was  piously  brought  up — 
he  has  had  excellent  advantages,  and  possesses 
good  judgment  and  a  quickness  of  penetration 
rarely  equalled.  He  is  also  ambitious  of  ob 
taining  the  confidence  of  the  people,  and  the 
honors  of  public  office.  He  will  never  yield  to 
that  most  brutalizing  vice  which  degrades  men.' 

-'  I  have  good  reason  for  believing  he  has 
been  guilty  of  it,'  said  Lucretia,  composedly. 
4  But  perhaps  there  is  no  reason  to  fear,  as  his 
lovely  wife  will  doubtless  reform  him.' 

1  Such  reforms  are  seldom  radical  ;  and  never, 
I  fear,  with  men  of  his  temperament,'  remarked 
Mr.  Colvin. — '  But  ten  years  will  decide.' 

4  0,  if  James  does  turn  out  a  profligate,  how 
I  shall  pity  his  mother  !'  said  Mrs.  Colvin,  sigh 
ing. 

' 1  shall  pity  his  wife,'  said  Miss  Lucretia 


52  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Crane,  adjusting  her  ruffles  with  an  air  of  great 
self-complacency. 

1 1  shall  pity  him,'  said  Mr.  Colvin  rising 
hastily  and  traversing  the  apartment  with  the 
perturbation  of  one  who  has  heard  some  evil 
reported  openly  which  he  had  long  suspected, 
but  had  been  striving  to  disbelieve. 

The  real  concern  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Golvin, 
and  the  affected  sympathy  of  Bliss  Crane,  were 
interrupted  by  the  approach  of  the  bridal  cav 
alcade.  In  an  elegant  carriage,  drawn  by  two 
noble  grays,  sat  the  new-married  pair.  They 
were  arrayed  in  costly  apparel,  and  both  pos 
sessed  that  beauty  of  form  and  face  which, 
bearing  the  impress  of  nature's  nobleness,  is 
not  dependent  on  ornament  for  its  power  of 
commanding  admiration.  A  long  line  of  car 
riages  followed,  from  which  manly  faces,  beam 
ing  with  exultation,  or  fair  ones  blushing  at  the 
thoughts  of  their  own  loveliness,  looked  forth  ; 
the  gay  laugh  was  distinctly  heard  as  the  vehi 
cles  rolled  rapidly  along,  and  no  one,  not  even 
a  cynic,  could  have  regarded  the  scene  with 
out  feeling  a  sentiment  of  joy  and  gratitude 
pervading  his  heart  at  thus  witnessing  the  per 
fection  of  social  happiness. 

'What  a  comely  couple  they  are  !'  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Colvin,  as  the  carriage  containing  the 
bridal  pair  drew  up  before  a  new  and  elegant 
mansion — '  and  what  a  prospect  of  domestic  fe 
licity  is  theirs.  But  few  begin  the  world  thus 
advantageously.  They  have  health  and  beau 
ty,  wealth  and  reputation,  and  friends,  and  af 
fection  for  each  other.' 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  53 

•c  Could  you  add  one  item  more  to  the  cata 
logue  of  advantages,  the  earthly  picture  would 
be  complete,'  said  Mr.  Colvin.  i  How  unfor 
tunate  that  the  absence  of  that  one  requisite, 
may,  perhaps,  render  all  the  others  nugatory.' 

'  You  then  probably  have  reason  to  credit 
the  report  to  which  I  alluded,'  said  Miss  Crane. 

£  I  did  not  mean  to  be  so  understood,'  said 
Mr.  Colvin,  calmly.  '  All  that  I  intended  was, 
that  self-control,  in  every  station  and  to  every 
individual,  is  indispensable,  if  people  would  re 
tain  that  equanimity  of  mind,  which,  depending 
on  self-respect,  is  the  essential  of  contentment 
and  happiness.' 

Miss  Crane  reddened,  for  she  felt  she  had 
been  displaying  before  one  well  skilled  to  read 
character,  the  meanness  of  envy  and  anger, 
while  revealing  a  report  confided  to  her  under 
the  solemn  injunction  of  secrecy,  and  which 
she  would  never  have  pretended  to  have  cred 
ited,  but  for  the  pique  she  felt  at  not  being 
bidden  to  the  wedding. 

Indeed,,  no  one  who  looked  on  James  Mur 
ray,  could  believe  him  guilty  of  aught  mean  or 
vicious.  He  had  that  nobie  ingenuousness  of 
countenance  which  we.  always,  in  idea,  associ 
ate  with  great  and  good  qualities  ;  (but  we  do 
not  in  the  world  always  find  our  expectations  re 
alized)  and  he  had  also  that  air  of  manly  confi 
dence  which  usually  distinguishes 'thtTs©  "V,  h:> 
have  always  been  the  favorites  of  fortune,  and 
consequently  think  themselves  privileged  to 
expect  her  favors.  Yet  his  was  not  the  triumph 
which  the  vanity  of  superior  wealth  imparts  to 


.-       , 


54  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

the  weak  minded.  He  had  talents  of  a  high 
order.  He  had  also  been  liberally  educated, 
and  had  he  been  permitted  to  study  a  profes 
sion,  would  probably  have  become  eminent. 
But  his  father,  a  rich  merchant,  wished  his 
son  to  pursue  the  same  business  ;  it  was  the 
way  he  had  acquired  his  estate,  and  he  thought 
it  the  way  in  which  James  would  best  preserve 
it.  But  the  old  gentleman  did  not  act  with  his 
usual  sagacity  when  he  sent  his  son  to  college  to 
qualify  him  the  better  to  become  a  merchant. 
There  is  a  fitness  in  the  manner  of  educating 
to  the  character  and  destination  of  the  educa 
ted,  an  adaptation  of  means  to  some  contem 
plated  end,  which  should  never  be  lost  sight  of 
by  those  who  have  the  care  of  youth.  James 
had  good  sense,  and  a  fine  genius,  and  had  he 
considered  the  studies  in  which  he  spent  so 
much  time  preparatory  to  some  pursuit  which 
was  to  be  the  business  of  his  future  life,  he 
would  doubtless  have  applied  himself  v  more 
diligently,  and  thus  been  spared  many  oppor 
tunities  for  frolic,  and  saved  from  many  tempt 
ations  to  folly  which  those  who  are  idle  or 
unemployed  cannot  escape.  He  knew,  and  all 
his  fellow  students,  that  he  was  sent  to  college 
to  obtain  a  diploma  more  as  an  ornamental  ap 
pendage  to  a  rich  man's  son,  than  for  any  real 
benefit.  So  he  passed  his  four  years  in  gayety 
and  pleasure,  and  came  home  with  his  A.  B.  to 
take  his  station  in  his  father's  counting-room. 
He  was  then  hut  nineteen,  and  many  suppos 
ed  his  college  acquirements  and  predilections 
would  soon  be  obliterated  from  his  mind  by  the 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL. 

bustling  life  in  which  he  had  engaged.  But  it 
should  be  remembered  that  though  the  human 
heart  is  like  water  when  we  would  write  there 
on  lessons  of  virtue,  it  is  like  the  rock  to  re 
tain  the  impressions  of  vice.  In  what  I  am 
about  to  relate  I  would  not  he  understood  as 
reflecting  on  the  management  of  any  literary 
institution,  or  the  manners  of  any  particular 
class  of  students.  ^Opportunities  and  examples 
of  vice  occur  everywhere— and  the  only  ef 
fectual  shield  to  oppose  their  influence,  with 
which  parents  can  invest  their  dear  ones,  when 
sending  them  forth  amid  the  temptations  of 
evil,  which  will  meet  them  in  the  college  and 
in  the  cloister,  as  well  as  in  the  camp  and 
court,  is  to  jinbue_  their  souls  with  the  precepts 
of  our  holy  religion,  and  furnish,  for  their 
minds,  at  least,  active  employment.  James 
was  strictly  educated  in  the  principles  of  true 
piety — his  parents  were,  what  they  professed 
to  be,  Christians — and  though  they  had  by 
honest  industry  acquired  a  large  estate,  they 
did  not  count  their  money  merely  by  dollars — 
but  by  a  better  tale — by  the  good  deeds  it 
would  enable  them  to  perform.  And  they  were 
both  remarkable  for  temperance,  and  the  sim 
plicity,  and  even  plainness,  with  which  their 
table  was  furnished  and  all  their  domestic  ar 
rangements  conducted.  James  had  not,  as 
some  children  unquestionably  do,  acquired  a 
relish  for  rum  before  he  could  lisp  its  name — 
his  '  nurse  7  never  was  allowed  to  keep  him 
'  quiet  on  sweetened  brandy  ' — he  had  an  aver 
sion  to  spirituous  liquors,  as  all,  not  taught 


56  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

to  love  it,  have  ;  and  so  his  parents  had  no 
fear  he  would  ever  full  a  victim  to  its  per 
nicious  poison.  They  exposed  him  too  early, 
and  unguardedly,  to  temptation.  He  went  to 
college  with  plenty  of  cash  at  command,  and 
plenty  of  leisure — he  was  unsuspicious  and 
generous,  and,  as  such  lively  and  ardent  youths 
generally  are,  fond  of  amusements  and  fond 
of  applause.  There  were  among  his  class 
mates,  some  who  had  the  meanness  to  wish  to 
be  treated  at  his  expense,  and  these  took  ad 
vantage  of  his  inexperience  and  generosity — 
and  by  flattery,  and  ridicule,  and  persuasion, 
his  squeamish  prejudices,  as  they  called  them, 
were  overcome,  and  he  learned  to  take  his 
glass  as  gaily  and  frequently  as  any  member 
of  the  convivial  club  to  which  he  belonged, 
and  often  paid,  himself,  the  whole  expense  of 
the  entertainment.  It  would  be  painful  and 
almost  impossible  to  paint  the  scenes  in  which 
he  was  often  engaged,  and  the  effect  they  had 
on  his  mind  ;  but  yet,  notwithstanding  his  con 
duct,  he  never  lost  his  sense  of  the  purity  and 
beauty  of  virtue,  nor  his  determination  to  pur 
sue  its  paths,  whenever  circumstances  should 
make  such  a  course  easy  and  popular — that  is 
— when  he  returned  home. 

But  no  one  '  can  take  fire  in  his  bosom,  and 
his  clothes  not  be  burned.'  James  did  return 
home,  and  his  father  soon  after  discovered, 
with  a  concern  bordering  on  horror,  the  fatal 
relish  for  liquors  which  his  son  had  aquired. 
The  daughters  of  Mr.  Murray  were  married, 
and  all  of  them  gone  from  the  paternal  roof — 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  57 

James  was  the  youngest  child — the  one  who 
was  to  perpetuate  his  father's  name — his  heir 
— his  hope,  and  his  idol.  There  lay  the  fault 
of  his  parents.  They  had  loved  James  too 
well,  and  trusted  him  too  confidently,  and  ex 
pected  more  from  his  discretion  than  human 
frailty  can  warrant  us  to  hope.  Remonstrance 
and  reasoning,  entreaties  and  reproaches, 
were  all  in  succession  tried  by  his  parents. 
But  though  James  ingenuously  acknowledged 
his  fault  and  lamented  it,  and  promised  refor 
mation,  he  was  found  failing  in  strength  of 
purpose  to  keep  his  resolutions  of  abstaining 
from  brandy,  till  his  father  began  utterly  to 
despair  of  his  amendment,  and  was  about  re 
signing  him  to  infamy — for,  with  commendable 
discretion,  his  parents  had  managed  for  near 
ly  a  whole  year  to  keep  their  son's  misconduct 
a  profound  secret  in  their  family,  lest  the  loss 
of  his  good  name  should  be  the  signal  for  his 
losing  all  self-command — when  a  circumstance 
occurred  which  promised,  by  awakening  the 
energy  of  a  new  passion,  to  grant  him  a  chance 
for  victory  over  an  appetite  that  had  hitherto 
wholly  engaged  his  senses.  James  saw,  and 
immediately  loved  Lucy_Marsh.  Her  father 
was  a  very  poor  man,  but  beauty  is  not  neces 
sarily  of  the  patrician  order.  It  is  as  often 
found  in  the  cottage  as  the  palace,  and  Lucy, 
then  just  sixteen,  was  one  of  the  loveliest  girls 
that  ever  the  light  of  the  sun  shone  upon.  It 
were  in  vain  to  try  to  describe  her.  A  Ma- 
hometajn j^ulcHiaye  likened  her  to  the  '  dark 
eyed  Houris,'- — a  Christian  lover  to  an  'angel,'  V 


58  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

and  both  undoubtedly  have  thought  the  superi 
ority  of  loveliness  on  the  side  of  the  fair  mortal. 
At  least,  so  thought  James  3Iurray  on  the 
morning  after  his  return  from  a  ball,  where  he 
had  been  permitted  to  touch  for  the  first  time 
the  hand  of  his  charmer  ;  to  sit  by  her  side  ; 
and  though  the  confusion  of  his  feelings  did  not 
permit  him  to  say  '  soft  things,'  he  had  never 
theless  looked  '  things  unutterable.'  He  was 
sitting  with  his  head  reclined  upon  his  desk, 
and  musing  upon  the  '  scenes  of  yesterday,' 
so  wrapped  in  contemplation  that  he  did  not 
hear  his  father's  step,  nor  notice  his  approach, 
till  the  old  gentleman  laid  his  hand  upon  his 
shoulder.  James  started  on  his  feet,  the  blood 
rushed  to  his  face,  and  he  looked  around  with 
a  half  stupid,  half  frighted  stare.  A  shade  of 
deep  sorrow  passed  over  the  pale  countenance 
of  Mr.  Murray,  and  his  voice  quivered  with 
emotion  as  he  said — '  I  am  expecting  my  friend 
Mr.  Alden,  of  New-York,  every  moment.  He 
writes  he  shall  dine  with  me  to-day.  I  once 
hoped  to  have  presented  to  him  my  son — but  I 
see  you  will  not  be  in  a  condition  to  appear. 
He  Nwill  doubtless  inquire  for  you,  and  what 
excuse  shall  I  make  for  your  absence  ?' 

James  strove  to  reply,  but  it  was  some  min 
utes  before  the  swelling  of  his  heart  would 
permit  him  to  speak.  At  length  he  seemed  to 
have  taken  his  resolution,  and  said  with  ener 
gy — '  I  know  your  suspicions,  sir,  but  for  once 
you  wrong  me.  Though  I  confess  I  am  in 
toxicated,  it  is  not  with  wine' — and  then,  with 
an  eloquence  his  father  had  never  before  heard 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  59 

him  display,  he  went  on  and  told  the  whole  his 
tory  of  his  love,  and  described  the  beauty  of 
Lucy,  concluding  with  an  earnest  asseveration^ 
*  that  if  he  might  be  permitted  to  marry  her/\ 
he  would  never  taste  another  drop  of  liquor    i 
again  while  he  lived.'  / 

Mr.  Murray  gazed  on  James  with  that  kind 
of  eager  and  overwhelming  joy  which  we  may 
imagine  glowed  on  the  face  of  the  father  of 
the  prodigal  when  witnessing  the  return  of  his 
son.  But  in  a  few  moments  the  expression  of 
his  features  changed,  and  a  deep  and  troubled 
concern  overspread  them  as  he  said  impress 
ively — '  What  you  ask,  my  son,  neither  my 
honor  or  conscience  will  now  permit  me  to  ap 
prove.  I  place  interest  out  of  the  question. 
The  father  of  Lucy  Marsh  is  a  good,  honest, 
and  industrious  man  ;  but  he  has  met  with  cros 
ses  and  losses  in  the  world,  while  I  have  been 
blessed  and  prosperous.  We  came  into  life 
equally  destitute,  we  shall  leave  it  on  equal 
terms.  Six  feet  of  ground  is  all  the  richest 
man  will  permanently  occupy,  and,  at  death, 
the  right  of  the  poor  to  the  possession  of  that 
freehold  is  never  disputed.  But,  James,  you 
describe  Lucy  as  possessing  every  virtue  of 
mind  and  heart  that  constitutes  the  excellence 
of  the  female  character  ;  and  I  have  before  this 
heard  her  merits  praised.  Her  husband  should 
be  equally  worthy.  Are  you  entitled  to  that 
distinction  ?' 

The  color  deepened  on  James's  cheek,  but 
it  was  not  all  the  hue  of  shame  ;  there  was  the 
kindling  of  proud  and  ardent  resolve  to  deserve 


60  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

the  boon  he  sought  ;  and  he  urged  his  deter 
mination  to  be  all  that  his  father  wished,  so 
earnestly  and  sincerely,  that  Mr.  Murray  could 
not  help  feeling  an  assurance  his  son  would,  at 
least,  make  a  strong  effort  to  overcome  his  evil 
propensities.  Still  the  father  knew,  for  he  had 
been  an  observing  man,  how  difficult  it  was  to 
effect  a  radical  cure  of  the  habit  to  which 
James  had  yielded  ; — that  though  love  might 
furnish  arms,  and  the  most  effectual  ones  per 
haps  that  could  be  wielded  by  a  young  man  for 
the  combat,  time  only  could  determine  the  vic 
tory.  At  length,  after  much  pondering,  he 
said  ;  'James,  I  have  no  doubt  your  intentions 
of  reform  are  sincere,  but  till  I  am  convinced 
of  your  perseverance  in  executing  them,  I  can 
not  consent  you  shall  address  Lucy,  or  endea 
vour  to  gain  her  affections.  She  must  not  be 
involved  in  the  ruin  which  will  finally  over 
whelm  you  if  persisting  in  intemperance.' 

'  What  period  of  trial  will  satisfy  you  ?'  ask 
ed  James. 

1  As  long  for  your  recovery  as  for  your  fall.' 

1  What.  !  four  years  !'  exclaimed  James  ;  un 
derstanding  the  allusion  of  his  father  to  the 
time  passed  in  college. 

'  Even  so,'  replied  the  other — '  and  too  short 
a  time  to  establish  entirely  my  confidence  in 
your  steadfastness.  But  pass  that  period  in 
activity  and  integrity,  and  I  shall  have  strong 
hope.  I  will  myself  speak  to  Mr.  Marsh,  and 
if  he  consents  to  my  proposal,  I  will  provide 
for  the  education  of  his  daughter  in  such  a  man 
ner  as  shall  qualify  her  to  become  a  member 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  61 

of  my  family.  But  I  shall  inform  her  and  her 
parents  unreservedly  of  your  past  course,  and 
present  resolution,  and  she  shall  not  be  bound 
by  any  promise  to  you  till  the  four  years  are 
expired.' 

James  knew  when  his  father  had  come  to 
a  determination,  and  settled  a  plan  of  action 
on  the  principles  of  what  he  conceived  duty, 
neither  arguments  or  persuasions  could  move 
him  from  his  purpose — so  James  acquiesced. 

Mr.  Murray,  though  a  good  and  judicious 
man,  was  not  indifferent  to  worldly  considera 
tions.  The  business  by  which  he  had  acquir 
ed  his  property  has  a  tendency  to  make  cal 
culation,  and  in  some  degree,  even  with  the 
most  liberal,  pecuniary  speculation,  a  favor 
ite  pursuit  of  the  mind.  It  is  not  probable  he 
would  so  unhesitatingly  have  approved  the 
choice  of  his  son,  and  consented  he  should 
marry  one  so  poor,  had  he  not  hoped  by  that 
indulgence  to  win  him  back  to  rectitude  and 
usefulness.  But  whatever  were  his  motives, 
his  promise,  once  given,  was  promptly  execu 
ted  and  sacredly  kept. 

The  parents  of  Lucy  Marsh  eagerly  accep 
ted  proposals  so  advantageous  to  their  daugh 
ter,  for  they  doubted  not  but  the  folly  of 
James  would  soon  be  corrected.  The  propo 
sal  seemed  to  Lucy  so  like  a  scene  of  romance, 
she  could  not,  for  some  time,  be  persuaded  of 
its  reality.  She  had  been  struck  with  the  ap 
pearance  of  James  Murray,  and  though  his 
station,  so  different  from  hers,  had  forbade  her 
to  hope  engaging  his  serious  affections,  yet 


62  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

there  had  been,  cver_after  the  baU,:  wild 
dreams  of  fancy  in  her  imagination,  which  her 
reason  had  been  unable  wholly'  to  dispel. 
M'hen  convinced  she  was  destined  to  become 
his  wife,  but  one  wish,  one  desire  swelled  her 
heart — that  she  might  become  worthy  of  him 
and  of  the  excellent  family  who  were  adopting 
her  as  their  own. 

To  one  not  accustomed  to  reflect  how  much 
of  the  excellence  and  virtue  of  character  is 
owing  to  energy  in  some  favorite  and  useful 
pursuit,  the  effect  which  this  arrangement  had 
on  James  Murray  would  appear  incredible, 
He  seemed  to  have  shaken  off  an  incubus  that 
had  hitherto  pressed  down  his  faculties  ;  or 
only  displayed  them  like  the  phantoms  of  that 
disease,  distorted  and  horrible.  He  .walked 
forth  among  men  with  a  determination  to  be 
come  a  man.  He  engaged  in  business  with 
activity — he  pursued  it  with  energy,  and  soon 
felt  that  proud  consciousness  of  deserving  the 
approbation  he  received,  which  nothing  but 
our  own  rectitude  of  principle  and  conduct. can 
bestow.  Without  this  self-approving  voice 
within  us,  the  applause  of  shouting  millions  is 
idle,  empty  praise.  There  is  so  much  of  real 
excitement  in  the  mode  of  life  in  America — so 
much  industry  and  enterprise  in  business — so 
much  stirring  of  the  spirit  in  political  canvass 
ing,  in  which  all  arc  interested,  that  it  would 
seem  no  citizen  of  our  republic  need  resort  to 
artificial  stimulants  to  remove 

'  The  settlings  of  a  melancholy  blood.1 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  63 

Certain  it  is  that  James  Murray  found  the 
pursuits  in  which  he  engaged,  of  essential 
benefit  in  breaking  off  the  associations  of  his 
habit,  and  thus  freeing  him  from  its  tyranny. 
Yet  perhaps  to  that  restlessness  which  his  first 
abstinence  from  liquor  engendered,  may  mostly 
be  attributed  the  eagerness  with  which  he  im 
mediately  engaged  in  politics.  For  this  pur 
suit  he  was,  by  nature,  admirably  fitted.  His 
commanding  and  handsome  person  always  at 
tracted  attention,  and  he  had  a  persuasive, 
and  whenever  he  chose  to  exert  it,  a  powerful 
voice,  whose  tones  thrilled  the  heart.  His  ed 
ucation  also  had  given  him  advantages  which 
but  few  of  the  men  among  whom  he  resided, 
possessed,  and  young  as  he  was,  he  soon  be 
came  distinguished  as  the  leader  of  his  party, 
and  so  effectually  secured  their  confidence, 
that  before  he  was  twenty  three,  he  was  elected 
a  member  of  the  state  legislature.  His  own 
ambition  and  the  fondest  wishes  of  his  parents 
seemed  realized  ;  and  his  father,  at  his  death, 
which  occurred  about  that  time,  as  he  embrac 
ed  and  blessed  his  son,  said, — '  My  cup  of 
earthly  joy  is  full — I  depart  in  peace,  and 
leave  you,  James,  in  the  full  belief  that  we 
shall  meet  where  a  crown  of  rejoicing  awaits 
those  who  have  overcome  temptation.' 

Death  is  called  the  king  of  terrors — but  may 
ho  not  often  be  the  angel  of  consolation  ? 
How  much  of  mortal  sorrow  is  spared  or  end 
ed  when  he  drops  his  sable  curtain,  and  clo 
ses  the  drama  of  human  life  !  Mr.  Murray 
died  in  peace — confident  of  the  worth  of  his 


64  AMERICAN  SKETCLES. 

beloved  son.  Had  he  survived  ten  years — but 
I  am  anticipating.  In  our  country,  especially 
in  the  new  and  thinly  settled  towns,  a  man  who 
proposes  marrying  a  wife,  usually  signifies  his 
intention  by  building  a  house;  and  consequent 
ly,  a  new  house  is  esteemed  a  very  important 
affair  to  the  new  married  couple.  It  seemed 
quite  unnecessary  that  James  should  follow 
this  fashion,  as  his  father  left  a  good  and  con 
venient  dwelling  ;  but  he  was  ambitious,  and  so 
the  new  house  was  determined  on.  In  size 
and  elegance  it  was  to  exceed  any  building  in 
the  village. 

c  Americans  have  no  taste  for  the  antique,' 
says  the  European  antiquary,  f  therefore  they 
are. rude  and  jgooxaut^  and  unpolished.'  But 
is  it  not  the  same  principle  of  taste  only  modi 
fied  by  the  difference  of  circumstances,  which 
leads  the  American  to  boast  of  his  new  edifice, 
and  the  European  to  venerate  his  ancient  one  ? 
In  both  cases  the  pride  of  preference  is  asso 
ciated  with  the  idea  of  merit.  The  European 
prizes  his  old  castle  because  it  is  blazoned 
with  the  feats  of  his  ancestors.  The  Ameri 
can  prefers  his  new  dwelling  because  it  is  the 
work  of  his  own  efforts  ;  the  one  describes  the 
magnificence  that  once  distinguished  his  do 
main — the  other  shows  the  improvement  he  has 
made  on  his  estate.  Ancf  if  personal  merit  be 
more  praiseworthy  than  imputed  excellence, 
then  is  not  the  advantage  on  the  side  of  our 
countrymen  ? 

But  these  remarks  are  quite  irrelevant  to 
the  subject — the  new  house  of  James  Murray  j 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL  65 

yet  it  would  undoubtedly  have  been  better  for 
him  to  have  cultivated  a  taste  for  the  antique, 
and  been  contented  with  his  father's  old  dwell 
ing.  It  was  during  the  progress  of  the  build 
ing  that,  forgetting  or  disregarding  the  solemn 
promise  he  had  pledged  his  father,  he  again 
began  to  taste  the  prohibited  brandy.  He 
took  but  very  little,  however,  and  flattered 
himself  he  had  acquired  sufficient  strength  of 
mind  to  restrain  and  regulate  his  appetite  by 
the  suggestions  of  reason.  It  seemed  a  re 
proach  on  his  character  as  a  man,  to  lack  firm 
ness  to  face  his  enemy.  It  was  puerile  to  be 
always  trembling,  like  a  whipped  schoolboy, 
when  a  glass  was  offered  him  ;  and  finally,  he 
could  riot  refuse  without  being  considered 
mean,  as  his  workmen  would  imply  he  did  not 
wish  them  to  drink,  if  he  himself  never  tasted. 
So  he  reasoned,  and  for  several  months  no 
perceptible  bad  effects  followed  his  '  tem 
perate  use  of  ardent  spirit,'  as  he  styled  it. 
About  three  weeks  before  he  was  to  be  mar 
ried,  a  political  bet,  in  which  he  was  engaged, 
was  decided  in  his  favor.  The  forfeiture  was 
to  be  paid  in  punch,  and  James  Murray  became  , 
intoxicated.  While  under  the  delirium  of  his 
temporary  insanity,  he  presented  himself  be-  , 
fore  his  intended^bride. 

Lucy  Marsh  was  just  as  lovely  as  a  summer 
rose,  and  just  as  easily  bowed.  She  had  nev 
er  suspected  James  of  having  violated  his  pro 
mise — she  was  utterly  unprepared  for  this  storm 
of  affliction — she  did  not  utter  a  word  to  him, 
but  fainted  ;  and  he  had  to  be  forced  from  her 
6 


66  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

presence,  and  carried  home.  The  tumult  of 
his  feelings,  on  recovering  from  his  paroxysm, 
can  scarcely  be  imagined.  After  bitter  self- 
reproaches  and  curses  on  his  folly,  and  resolu 
tions  of  the  most  rigid  abstinence  in  future,  he 
repaired  to  the  dwelling  of  Lucy  to  obtain,  if 
possible,  her  forgiveness.  He  knew  she  was 
then  released  from  all  obligations  to  marry  him 
— that  his  father  had  advised,  indeed  enjoined 
it  on  her,  as  she  valued  her  own  happiness, 
never  to  wed  his  son  if  he  again  yielded  to  in 
temperance.  But  James  knew  Lucy  loved 
him,  and  he  knew,  too,  that,  women  are  prone 
to  palliate  the  failings,  and  trust  the  promises 
of  those  they  love  ;  that  they  are,  by  nature, 
unsuspicious,  and  confiding,  and  forgiving. 
The  event  showed  he  judged  rightly,  ^lleason 
urged  to  Lucy  all  the  risk  she  was  incurring  ; 
imagination  portrayed  all  the  sorrows  and  ago 
nies  she  was  exposed  to  suffer,  if  James  did 
not  reform,  and  hope  could  hardly,  be  so  .cred 
ulous  as  to  believe  in  his  permanent  reforma 
tion,  when  he  had  thus  broken  the  solemn  and 
voluntary  pledge  to  his  own  father.  But  still, 
her  heart — 0,  she  could  not  stifle  the  plead 
ings  of  her  heart.  And  when  James  came 
before  her,  his  tears,  and  entreaties,  and  pro 
testations  prevailed.  She  forgave  him,  and 
became  his  wife.  She  did  not  insist  on  his  mak 
ing  to  her  any  particular  promises  of  sobriety  ; 
and  in  that  she  acted  wisely.  The  teasing  in 
terference  of  a  woman,  no  man  of  sense  and 
spirit  will  brook — none  ought  to  brook.  And 
Lucy  had  too  much  discretion  to  expect  that 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  67 

a  promise  of  temperance  made  before  mar 
riage,  would  bind  her  husband,  if  the  sacred 
vows  he  made  at  the  altar  to  cherish  her,  the 
preservation  of  his  own  character,  and  rever 
ence  for  morality  and  piety,  could  not  restrain 
him.  She  trusted,  therefore,  to  his  affection 
and  his  honor,  and  for  more  than  two  years  his 
conduct  fully  justified  her  confidence. 

******* 

Mrs.  Colvin  was  reclining  one  cold  winter 
evening-befbre  a  bright  fire,  her  work  table  be 
fore  her,  and  as  she  listened  to  the  storm  that 
beat  furiously  against  the  windows,  and  her  eye 
wandered  around  the  commodious  and  well 
furnished  apartment  in  which  she  was  seated, 
she  reflected  on  the  blessings  she  enjoyed  ; 
and  contrasting  her  situation  with  millions  of 
her  fellow-beings,  in  different  parts  of  the 
world,  all  equally  with  herself  susceptible  of 
pain  and  pleasure,  -she  breathed  a  fervent 
thanksgiving  that  she  had  had  her  birthright 
and  habitation  assigned  her  in  a  land  so  favor 
ed  as  America.  Her  husband  hastily  entered. 

1  You  look  fatigued  and  sorrowful,'  said  Mrs. 
Colvin. 

c  I  have  just  come  from  the  dwelling  of  af 
fliction,'  he  replied. 

*  0,  I  knew  this  was  a  world  of  suffering  ! ' 
— exclaimed  Mrs.  Colvin  ;  i  and  yet  I  have 
been  this  whole  hour  indulging  in  congratula 
tions  on  my  own  happy  situation,  and  inferring 
because  I  felt  no  grief,  no  privation,  all  my 
neighbours  were  equally  blessed.' 

i  When,'  replied  her  husband, l  men  yield  to 


68  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

temptation}  to  sin — suffering  must  follow.  In 
deed  in  our  country,  more  than  in  any  other 
on  earth,  deviations  from  morality  and  integri 
ty  are  punished  either  with  the  loss  of  fame, 
fortune,  or  public  confidence  ; — and  ,  Jajnes 
Murray  has  forfeited  them  all.' 

1  Is  his  situation  as  bad  as  we  have  heard  ?' 
inquired  Mrs.  Colvin. 

'  Worse,  far  worse,'  returned  the  other. 
'  We  heard  he  would  probably  have  sufficient 
to  pay  his  creditors,  but  he  is  a  bankrupt  by 
several  thousands,  the  mortgage  on  his  estate 
is  foreclosed,  and  every  article  of  personal 
property  has  been  attached  ;  the  sheriff  was 
removing  the  furniture  when  I  reached  the 
house.' 

*  Is  it  possible  that  he  can  have  spent  the 
large  estate  his  father  left  him  ?'  inquired  Mrs. 
Colvin.  '  It  is  but  a  little  time — a  year  or 
two,  since  he  became  so  dissipated.' 

1  There  is  nothing  more  easy  than  for  a  man 
to  ruin  himself,'  returned  her  husband.  '  Let 
him  neglect  his  business,  bet.  with  every  one 
who  will  venture  a  wager,  and  generally  take 
the  losing  side,  and  keep  constantly  in  a  state 
of  inebriety,  and  his  estate  will  soon  be  wasted. 
But  James  Murray  was  never  so  rich  as  many 
imagined.  Much  of  his  wealth  depended,  as 
i  most  of  our  country  merchants'  estates  do,  on 
his  credit  ;  and  then  be  built  his  costly  house, 
which  he  ought  not  to  have  done.  And  he  has 
been  intemperate  longer  than  you  mentioned  ; 
ever  since  he  lost  his  election  four  years  ago. 
His  wife  told  me  he  never  tasted  liquor  after 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  69 


their  IUUITI;!^,  ill!  that  disappointment.  But 
ins  relish  for  spirit  had  hern  before  ac(]uired, 
and  when  a  man  has  unfortunately  contract 
ed  that  thirst,  every  extraordinary  emotion, 
whether  of  joy  or  grief,  or  anger,  seems  to 
awaken  it  anew.  There  is  not,  for  such  an 
one,  much  hope  of  permanent  reformation.' 

f  Where  is  his  poor  wife  ?  and  how  does  she 
bear  her  trial  ?'  asked  Mrs.  Colvin. 

'  I  found  her  in  her  small  parlour  —  her  little 
children  gathered  around  or  in  her  arms  —  like 
a  brooding  dove  sheltering  her  young  ones 
from  the  approach  of  danger.  Her  face  was 
pale  as  marble,  but  perfectly  calm  ;  yet  at  the 
first  expression  of  my  concern  she  burst  into 
a  passionate  weeping.  I  endeavoured  to  con 
sole  her,  and  promised  my  assistance.  She 
dried  her  tears  as  she  said  —  '  Do  not  think,  sir, 
I  am  grieving  for  the  loss  of  our  property,  or  be 
cause  I  must  leave  this  dwelling.  The  display 
of  wealth  is  not  necessary  to  my  happiness, 
indeed  I  think  it  has  made  me  more  wretched 
•  —  the  splendor  by  which  I  was  surrounded 
seeming  to  mock  my  heart's  misery.  But  my 
husband  —  it  is  for  his  degradation,  his  ruin  I 
weep.  0  !  I  could  joyfully  share  poverty  with 
him  —  I  would  work  to  support  him  —  I  would 
willingly  be  a  slave,  or  lay  down  my  own  life, 
if  he  might  be  persuaded  to  return  to  virtue  — 
if  he  could  be  reclaimed  !' 

1  What  did  you  say  to  her  ?'  asked  Mrs. 
Colvin,  weeping. 

'  I  could  suggest  nothing  of  earthly  comfort,' 
returned  her  husband.  '  I  could  only  direct 


70  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

her  to  that  balm  for  sorrow  which  is  found  only 
in  him  who  has  declared  that  all  things  shall 
work  together  for  good  to  them  who  love  God.' 
1  What  will  become  of  her  and  her  dear  lit 
tle  family  ?'  again  reiterated  Mrs.  Colvin. 

1  They  will  not  be  left  to  suffer,'  said  her 
husband.  c  Her  merits  and  her  grief  touched 
every  heart.  I  saw  tears  in  the  eyes  of  many 
firm  men,  when  speaking  of  her  situation.  In 
deed,  the  principal  creditors  declared  they 
would  not  have  urged  their  claims,  and  taken 
all  the  property,  had  they  not  thought  it  might 
possibly  rouse  Murray  to  exertion.  To  show 
kindness  to  him  by  allowing  him  means  of  in 
dulging  his  depraved  appetite,  would  be  cruel 
ty  to  his  family.  But  we  have  made  arrange 
ments  that  will  secure  for  Mrs.  Murray  what 
she  needs  for  present  comfort.  The  family 
are  to  be  removed  to  that  house  of  mine  which 
stands  close  by  the  dwelling  of  Mr.  John  Rus 
sell.  It  is  small,  to  be  sure,  but  comfortable, 
and  we  shall  furnish  it.  You,  ladies,  must 
find  employment  for  Mrs.  Murray  ;  she  told 
me  she  would  sew  for  any  one.' 

c  I  do  not  wish  her  to  work  for  me,'  said  Mrs. 
Colvin,  eagerly  ;  l  whatever  I  can  do  to  assist 
her  shall  be  cheerfully  rendered.' 

'  You  forget,  my  dear,'  said  her  husband, 
smiling,  l  that  the  necessity  of  receiving  alms 
is,  to  the  delicate  and  sensitive  mind,  the 
most  galling  link  in  the  chain  of  poverty.  But 
few  of  our  native  born  Yankees,  and  none  who 
have  the  spirit  of  a  Yankee,  will  long  submit  to 
the  ignominy  of  subsisting  wholly  by  charity. 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  71 

There  is  a  pride  of  independence  among  us — a 
nobility  of  soul,  fliat  spurns  at  vassalage,  in 
whatever  way  the  yoke  is  imposed.  Then  do 
not  add  to  the  embarrassments  of  Mrs.  Murray, 
by  an  offer  of  charity,  which  she  may  not  feel 
at  liberty  to  refuse,  but  which  will  mortify  her 
to  accept.  Employ  her,  and  pay  her  just  as 
liberally  as  you  please,  but  let  there  be  some 
reciprocity  between  you.  You  will  then  se 
cure  more  than  her  '  thank  ye' — her  esteem, 
gratitude,  and  love.' 

'  But  will  not  James  Murray  himself  be 
capable  of  doing  something  for  his  family  ?' 
inquired  this  amiable  woman. 

'  That  is  a  question  which  cannot  at  present 
be  solved,'  said  her  husband.  *  James  is  a  good 
penman  and  accountant,  and  can  find  employ 
ment  if  he  will  keep  sober.  0,  when  I  looked 
on  him,  extended  as  he  was  on  the  floor,  in  a 
state  of  utter  insensibility  to  everything  pas 
sing  around  him — the  removal  of  his  property^ 
— the  agony  of  his  wife — and  then  when  I 
thought  of  his  early  promise — his  excellent  dis 
position — his  fine  talents — his  education — all 
the  advantages  with  which  he  began  his  ca 
reer,  and  the  eminence  he  had  obtained — and 
saw  all  lost,  ruined  by  his  own  folly,  I  could 
not  but  weep  over  him.  How  much  he  has  al 
ready  suffered  !  and  how  much  he  must  here 
after  endure  !  He  sees  those  who  once  wait 
ed  on  his  smile,  now  scornfully  pass  him  by  ; 
he  reads  contempt  or  pity  in  those  counte 
nances  that  once  brightened  at  his  approach  ; 
he  finds  himself  shunned,  neglected,  or  ridicul- 


72  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

ed,  where  his  lightest  word  was  once  heard 
with  attention.  All  this  he  must  bear,  and 
who  will  not  acknowledge  that  ^punishment 
follows  the  transgressor  ?  It  ought4o  every 
where  ;  it  invariably  does  among^  the  descend 
ants  of  the  Pilgrims.  Rank  may,  in  govern 
ments  less  pure  and  popular  than  ours,  secure 
the  semblance  of  respect  to  the  unworthy.  A 
lord,  though  drunk,  is  still  a  lord,  and  para 
sites  may  flatter  him,  and  servants  attend  him. 
But  the  spontaneous  esteem,  cofidence,  and 
applause  of  our  free,  independent,  and  intelli 
gent  citizens,  cannot  be  obtained  by  a  degrad 
ed  and  worthless  character.' 

*****  * 

The  morning  exhibited  all  the  calmness,  and 
beauty,  and  gladness,  that  usually  pervades 
the  summer  sky,  the  day  after  a  violent  thun 
der  shower  has  cleared  the  atmosphere  of  all 
impure  vapors.  The  birds  then  sing  their 
gayest  notes,  as  if  congratulating  each  Qth- 
er  that  the  storm  has  so  happily  passed  by. 
There  was  a  fresher  green  on  the  trees  and 
fields — a  serenity  in  the  deep  blue  sky,  pictur 
ing,  as  we  may  imagine,  the  repose  of  the 
spirit,  after  the  storms  of  earth  are  ended,  and 
it  rests  beneath  the  shade  of  the  tree  of  life. 
But  amid  all  this  beauty,  joy,  and  peace, 
there  came  a  memento  of  man's  mortality. 
The  sound  of  a  funeral  knell  from  the  village 
spire,  fell  more  mournful  than  usual  on  the 
ear,  contrasted  as  it  was  with  the  rejoicing  of 
nature. 


WEDDING  AND  FUNEEAL.  73 

c  It  is  the  burial_fif  Mrs.  Murray,'  said  Mr. 
Colvin,  to  a  stranger  who  addressed  him  with 
an  inquiry.  '  Poor  Lucy  !  she  will  find  the 
grave  a  refuge  from  suffering.' 

*  Was  it  she  who  was  once  called  Lucy 
Marsh  ?'  inquired  the  stranger. 

1  The  same.' 

The  stranger  was  much  agitated.  i  I  saw 
her  once,'  he  remarked,  'just  before  she  was 
married.  She  was  the  most  beautiful  human 
being  I  ever  beheld.  I  heard  that  her  hus 
band  had  failed — that  he  was  intemperate — 
and  my  journey  through  the  village  was  in 
duced  by  curiosity  to  learn  the  situation  of  that 
lovely  woman.  I  confess,  I  hoped  I  should 
find  that  her  husband  was  no  more.' 

'  You  would  probably  then  feel  interested  to 
learn  some  particulars  of  her  fate,'  said  Mr. 
Colvin. 

The  stranger  bowed. 

4  You  observed  you  had  heard  of  the  failure 
of  James  Murray,'  continued  Mr.  Colvin. 
i  His  father  was  my  intimate  friend,  and  once 
did  me  a  signal  service  ;  and  I  wished  to  ex 
press  my  gratitude  by  showing  kindness  to  the 
son  ;  so  I  established  James  and  his  family  in 
a  house  of  my  own.  This  building  adjoined 
one  in  which  lived  a  man  who  had  once  been 
an  admirer  of  Lucy  Marsh.' 

'  There  were  many  such,  I  presume,'  said 
the  stranger. 

'  Her  beauty  was  doubtless  much  admired,' 
returned  Mr.  Colvin, '  but  John  Russell,  as  I 


74  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

understood,  had  sanguine  expectations  of  ob 
taining  hf3r  hand,  and  had  she  never  seen 
James  Murray,  would  probably  have  been 
successful.  Poets  may  celebrate  the  omnipo 
tence  of  Cupid,  but  from  observation  I  am  in 
clined  to  believe  that,  in  at  least  one  half  of  the 
matches,  propinquity  has  quite  as  much  influ 
ence  as  the  arrows  of  the  blind  god.  But 
Mrs.  Murray  loved  her  husband  truly  and  un- 
dividedly,  and  excepting  occasional  starts  of 
passion  or  petulance  when  intoxicated,  he  was, 
till  his  mind  became  inflamed  with  jealousy,  a 
most  affectionate  husband.  This  jealousy,  ex 
cited  by  a  trifling  circumstance,  is  a  sad  ex 
emplification  of  that  alienation  of  reason  which 
is  often  caused  by  intemperance.  Men  seem 
then  possessed  with  the  spirit  of  demons  ; 
rage,  envy,  hatred,  and  they  delight  in  indict 
ing  misery.  I  have  said  the  house,  in  which 
this  unfortunate  family  resided,  adjoined  that 
of  Mr.  John  Russell.  His  was  a  very  ele 
gant  dwelling,  for  he  had  been  gaining  an  es 
tate  while  James  Murray  was  dissipating  his 
— and  Mrs.  Murray  happened  one  day  to  re 
mark  on  the  prosperity  of  Mr.  Russell  and  his 
handsome  house.  Her  husband  instantly  be 
came  exasperated,  and  pouring  a  torrent  of 
abuse  both  on  her  and  Mr.  Russell,  declared 
he  would  not  reside  so  near  a  man  whom  he 
doubted  not  was  the  favored  paramour  of  his 
wife.  From  that  hour,  his  conduct  to  his 
family  became  changed  and  cruel.  I  cannot 
enter  into  details,  your  heart  would  sicken  at 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  75 

the  recital,  and  it  makes  mine  bleed  to  think 
of  the  sufferings  of  that  amiable  woman.' 

The  stranger  was  evidently  mueh  agitated, 
yet  he  begged  Mr.  Colvin  to  proceed. 

( I  must  be  brief,'  returned  he  ;  '  and  can 
only  say  that  Mrs.  Murray  was  so  persecuted, 
and  rendered  so  wretched,  by  the  jealousy  of 
her  husband,  that  she  consented  to  remove 
from  the  house.  Her  husband  provided  anoth 
er.  It  was  a  lone  building,  situated  in  a  wild 
place,  and  half  a  mile  from  any  neighbour.  The 
house  was  in  a  ruinous  state,  the  roof  pervious 
to  every  storm,  and  there  was  not  a  glass  win 
dow  in  the  building.  In  short,  it  was  a  mere 
wreck  ;  '  the  very  rats  instinctively  had  quit 
it,' — yet  there,  this  once  angelic  and  still  inter 
esting  woman,  was  compelled  to  reside.  The 
sorrows  of  the  poor  are  net  understood  from 
description  ;  to  be  known  they  must  be  felt. 
Our  charitable  people  did  much  for  Mrs.  Mur 
ray  and  her  little  ones,  yet  still  I  have  no  doubt 
they  often  suffered  both  from  cold  and  hunger. 
And  then  they  were  subjected  to  the  capricious 
cruelty  of  a  drunken  man.  O  !  would  young 
ladies  but  once  be  sensible  of  that  depth  of 
mortification  and  wretchedness  which  a  woman 
is  doomed  to  feel  who  has  an  intemperate  hus 
band,  they  never  would  for  a  moment  hesitate 
to  discard  a  lover  who  had  been  guilty  of  that 
degrading  crime.  They  never  would  wed  with 
such  an  one,  though  he  were  before  as  dear  as 
their  oWn  life  ;  they  never  could  marry  him — 
no,  never,  never,  never  !  You  doubtless  won- 


76  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

der  how  such  a  delicate  woman  could  live,  sub 
jected  to  such  distresses.  The  capacity  of 
the  human  mind  and  frame  to  endure,  is,  in 
many  cases,  indeed  astonishing.  Mrs.J\Iurray 
had  the  consolations  of  religion  for  support, 
and  then  affection  for  her  children  strengthen 
ed  her  to  i  bear  up  under  the  load  of  Hie.'  Yet 
even  the  exercise  of  her  piety  was  often  fraught 
with  the  most  exquisite  agony,  for  how  lost, 
when  judged  by  the  holy  law  of  God,  appeared 
the  character,  and  how  terrible  the  condition  of 
the  husband  she  still  fondly  loved  !  Every 
day  seemed  widening  the  gulf  between  them, 
and  rendering  more  fixed  and  irreconcilable 
the  habits  and  principles  which  must  finally 
separate  them  forever. 

He  who  created  us,  alone  knoweth  why  some 
of  his  children  are  appointed  to,  win  their  heav 
enly  crown  through  so  much  -tribulation.  To 
the  trials  of  Mrs.  Murray  were  now  to  be  add- 
edj  the  sickness  and  death  of  her  two  young 
est  children.  Her  eldest,  a  daughter,  had 
never  enjoyed  good  health,  and  the  hardships 
and  wants  to  which  she  was  often  exposed, 
doubtless,  injured  her,  till  finally  she  became 
subject  to  fits  of  epilepsy,  and  her  case  was 
pronounced  incurable.  But  still,  the  mother 
had  one  precious  treasure,  a  fine  boy,  just  en 
tering  on  his  seventh  year,  and  the  most  per 
fectly  lovely  and  engaging  child  I  ever  beheld. 
In  him  she  *  garnered  up  her  heart,'  and  re 
posed  all  her  earthly  hopes  ;  in  him  she  could 
love  his  father's  image  without  self-reproach, 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  77 

and  her  affections  continually  wounded,  or 
trampled  on  by  her  husband,  twined  around 
her  child  with  those  close  foldings,  whose  de 
lighted  throb  is  so  nearly  allied  to  agony. 
This  feeling,  the  fever  of  love,  is  never  expe 
rienced  by  those  who  live  tranquilly,  and  have 
not  been  necessitated  to  centre  that  affection 
and  hope  on  one  object,  which  should  have 
been  divided  among  a  family.  Last  Monday 
morning  I  called  at  their  dwelling.  I  found 
Mrs.  Murray  in  better  spirits  than  usual,  and 
there  was  a  cheerfulness  in  her  manner,  I  had 
not  for  a  long  time  witnessed.  While  we  were 
conversing,  a  carriage,  in  which  were  two 
gentlemen,  passed.  A  glove  fell  from  the 
chaise,  and  little  James,  who  was  playing  be 
fore  the  house,  sprang  with  the  agility  of  a 
fawn,  picked  it  up,  and  presented  it  with  a  low 
bow,  to  the  owner.  The  exceeding  beauty  of 
the  child,  contrasted,  as  it  was,  with  his  mean 
habiliments,  made  him  a  most  interesting  ob 
ject.  The  gentlemen  were  undoubtedly  struck, 
as  I  observed  they  pointed  towards  him,  while 
conversing  with  much  animation.  At  length 
one  of  them  called  the  boy  and  presented  him 
a  dollar. 

I  wish  you  could  have  seen  the  little  fellow 
when  he  came  bounding  into  the  house  to  ex 
hibit  his  prize.  He  was  too  young  to  feel  any 
mortification  from  being  thought  an  object  of 
charity — there  was  nothing  but  pure  joy  in  his 
sensations.  His  bright  eyes  fairly  lightened 
with  pleasure, — and  his  rosy  face  laughed  and 


78  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

dimpled  all  over,  while  his  breath  came  so 
short  and  eager,  he  could  hardly  find  words 
to  express  his  feelings,  as  he  exclaimed — 
4  Mother,  dear  mother,  I  shall  buy  something 
for  you — I  shall  buy  everything  you  want  !' 
Tears  and  smiles  were  blended  on  the  faded 
and  sad,  but  still  sweet  countenance  of  his 
mother.  I  read  her  thoughts — she  was  an 
ticipating  the  day  when  her  boy  would  be  her 
friend  and  protector.  At  that  moment  her 
husband  entered.  He  had,  as  I  afterwards 
learned,  been  that  morning  refused  credit  for 
a  glass  of  liquor,  and  in  the  contention  that 
ensued  his  wrath  had  been  treated  with  con 
tempt,  till  he  finally  became  so  outrageous  he 
was  driven  from  the  store  ;  the  very  one  he 
had  formerly  owned.  I  saw  there  was  a 
terrific  frown  on  his  brow,  and  that  his  wife 
shuddered  ;  but  his  little  son,  elated  and  joy 
ous,  saw  or  heeded  not  the  gathering  storm. 
He  sprang  to  his  father,  and  holding  up  his 
money  again  told  what  he  was  intending  to 
buy  for  his  mother. 

*  You  shall  do  no  such  thing,'  thundered  the 
savage  parent,  snatching  the  money  from  the 
child's  grasp.  i  Go,  bring  me  yonder  bottle — 
I  will  see  if  I  cannot  have  a  glass  of  rum  !' 

'  0  !  give  me  my  dollar,  father, — give  me 
my  dollar,' — cried  the  child,  clinging  to  his 
father's  knee. 

With  the  fury  of  a  madman  flashing  from  his 
eyes,  that  father  raised  his  clenched  fist. 
Mrs.  Murray  shrieked,  and  we  both  sprang 


WEDDING  AND  FUNERAL.  79 

forward  to  intercept  the  blow.     It  was  too 
late  ! 

I  have  no  idea  James  Murray  intended  to 
kill  his  child,  or  indeed  that  he  knew,  at  the 
time,  what  he  did  ; — but  when  he  saw  the 
guiltless  victim  of  his  wrath,  lying  like  a 
crushed  lamb — senseless — pale  as  marble — 
the  blood  streaming  from  his  mouth  and  nos 
trils,  it  recalled  the  maniac  to  his  senses. 
The  chords  of  his  better  feeling,  which  for  a 
long  time  had  not  vibrated,  were  touched — 
and  the  fountain  of  his  affections,  which  had 
seemed  withered,  scorched,  dried  up,  sudden 
ly  gushed  forth  with  the  stream  of  tenderness. 
With  the  most  careful  attention  he  assisted  me 
to  raise  the  body  of  his  child — he  chafed  his 
temples  and  little  hands — he  spoke  soothingly 
to  his  wife,  in  the  tone  and  with  the  words  of 
endearment,  once  so  familiar  to  her  ear.  We 
essayed  everything  to  revive  the  child,  but 
in  vain — the  spirit  of  the  young  sufferer  had 
passed  from  earth.  When  we  became  convin 
ced  that  life  was  extinct,  the  lamentations  of 
the  mother  were  heart-rending.  Her  husband 
listened  one  moment — his  features  were  con 
vulsed  with  agony,  and  I  hoped  and  prayed 
he  might  weep — but  that  relief  was  denied 
him.  Suddenly  his  countenance  assumed  a 
fixed  and  horrid  expression  ;  it  was  the  wild- 
ness  of  utter  despair.  His  eyes  glared,  he 
gnashed  his  teeth,  and  clenching  both  hands, 
invoked  on  his  own  head  the  most  awful  de 
nunciations,  and  rushed  from  the  house. 


80  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Mrs.  Murray — but  I  see  you  are  distress 
ed, — and  I  will  not  attempt  to  describe  her 
feelings.  She  died  the  next  morning,  and  I 
rejoiced  at  her  release  from  a  world  she  had 
found  so  filled  with  thorns.  Yesterday,  just 
as  the  thunder  was  bursting  in  fury,  the  body 
of  James  Murray  was  found.  He  had  drown 
ed  himself  !  Probably  he  never  paused  after 
leaving  his  house,  as  the  expression  of  his 
features  was  unchanged — his  teeth  were  set — 
and  his  hands  still  clenched.  We  buried  him 
in  silence,  near  the  spot  where  his  body  was 
discovered  ;  and  yonder,  attended  by  nearly 
all  the  inhabitants  of  our  village,  as  mourners, 
come  the  remains  of  his  murdered  child  and 
victim  wife.' 


-crtrv 


>«trv  r~'     jb+*t*€> 

*        .  i  *Ta3  J*""**1        *"**• 


ANN  ELLSWORTH. 


« Wooing  thee,  I  found  thee  of  more  value 

Than  stamps  in  gold,  or  sums  in  sealed  bags  ; 

And  'tis  the  very  riches  of  thyself 

That  now  I  aim  at '  SHAKSPEA.RE. 


ABOUT  one  mile  from  the  pretty  village  of 

N ,  that  stretches  along  the  banks  of  the 

fertile  Connecticut,  there  lived,  some  thirty 
years  since,  a  farmer  bvthe  name  of  Williams. 
He  was  a  good  man,  in  the  Yankee  sense  of 
the  term,  that  is,  industrious  and  thriving,  and 
accounted  honest  and  pious — for  he  lived 
aboveboard,  paid  all  his  contracts  punctually, 
and  belonged  to  the  church.  So  he  was  called 
a  good  man,  and  on  many  accounts  he  truly 
deserved  the  epithet  ;  but  there  was  one  foil  to 
his  virtues-^-he  was  avaricious./ 

The  acquisition  of  property  is,  in  our  coun 
try,  so  very  creditable,  that  probably  many 
who  yield  themselves  slaves  to  the  love  of  mo 
ney  are  not  aware  of  the  dominion  it  exercises 
over  their  hearts  and  passions.  They  do  not 
intend  to  love  the  world,  or  the  things  thereof, 
unduly  ;  but  they  want  to  have  the  comforts  of 
life,  and  the  means  of  entertaining  their  friends, 
and  somewhat  to  bestow  in  charity,  and  a  por- 


82  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

tion  for  their  children,  and  many  other  items, 
which  appear  indispensable;  and  thus  they 
deem  the  eagerness  with  which  they  go  on  in 
creasing  their  hoards,  but  the  duty  they  owe 
themselves,  families  and  society. 

I  have  said  Williams  was  a  thriving  man,  in 
deed  he  was  rich  for  the  sphere  in  which  he 
moved.  He  cultivated  his  excellent  farm  with 
great  care,  the  eye  of  the  traveller  was  always 
arrested  by  his  charming  situation,  and  it  was 
often  remarked  that  so  quiet  and  pleasant  a 
residence  must  be  the  abode  of  content  and 
happiness.  How  little  of  either  are  dependent 
on  worldly  prosperity  ! 

Both  Williams  and  his  wife  loved  the  world 
so  well  they  had  but  little  love  to  bestow  on 
each  other  ;  and  though  they  both  toiled  hard, 
and  rose  up  early,  and  sat  up  late,  and  eat ( the 
bread  of  carefulness,'  it  was  not  from  the  sym 
pathy  of  affection,  but  to  become  rich.  They 
gained  their  wishes;  but  then  they  found,  as  all 
will  find,  that  whenever  worldly  desires  are  in 
ordinately  indulged,  their  gratification  is  sure 
to  bring  disappointment  and  vexation,  if  not 
misery,  to  the  worldling.  They  thought,  and 
people  generally  said,  that  all  their  uneasiness 
was  caused  by  the  untoward  behaviour  of  their 
only  son.  Obed  Williams  was  one  of  those  com 
mon  characters,  and  they  are  much  the  most 
numerous  class,  which  seem  to  have  no  distin 
guishing  lineament,  but  take  their  form  and 
pressure  entirely  from  surrounding  objects  and 
accidental  circumstances.  He  was  in  infan 
cy  rather  a  sickly  child,  and  so  his  mother 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  8$ 

constantly  indulged  him  in  every  whim — and 
in  childhood  he  was,  chiefly  in  consequence 
of  that  indulgence,  cross  and  wilful  ;  and  then 
his  father,  who  made  Solomon's  mode  of  gov 
ernment  his  standard,  as  constantly  whipped 
him  for  every  fault,  and  it  is  difficult  to  decide 
which  mode  of  treatment  had  the  worst  effect 
on  his  disposition.  To  complete  his  evil  des 
tiny,  it  was  often  whispered  in  his  ear,  and  that 
too  by  his  own  mother,  that  he  was  a  rich  man's 
only  child,  and  would,  sometime,  inherit  a  large 
estate,  and  have  it  in  his  power  to  do  just  as 
he  pleased.  Should  it  excite  wonder  that,  as 
he  grew  towards  manhood,  and  therefore  found 
himself  exempted  from  corporal  punishment,  he 
displayed  a  selfish,  sullen,  overbearing  temper? 
His  parents,  by  their  injudicious  management 
had  increased,  if  not  kindled  it;  and  they  were 
punished  by  his  wilfulness  and  disobedience. 
But  still  Mr.  Williams  hoped  that  if  his  son 
married  a  good  wife  he  would  improve,  and  with 
his  usual  sagacity,  when  pecuniary  profit  was  in 
question,  he  had  selected  such  an  one  for  Obed. 

'  Your  cousin,  Ann  Ellsworth,  will  be  here 
to-morrow,'  said  Mr.  Williams — '  an<3,  Obed, 
I  do  hope  you  will  not  show  any  of  your  con 
trary  temper,  but  be  sociable  and  endeavour  to 
please  her.  Ann  is  a  girl  worth  pleasing,  for 
she  will  have  a  fortune  of  four  thousand  dollars; 
— and  her  mother,  before  she  died,  consented 
that  Ann  should  marry  you.' 

'What,  whether  1  choose  it,  or  no?'  said 
Obed,  looking  up  with  an  expression  of  fea 
tures  between  a  simper  and  a  sneer. 


84  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

1  You  will  choose  it,  Obed,'  replied  his  fa 
ther,  in  a  soothing  tone.  *  Ann  was  very  hand 
some  when  1  saw  her  last,  which  is  about  three 
years  ago.  It  was  when  her  mother  died,  and 
I  wished  to  bring  the  girl  right  home  with  me 
and  have  her  learn  to  work  ;  but.  she  was  so 
anxious  to  go  back  to  her  school,  and  her  mo 
ther  had  promised  her  she  should  go  and  com 
plete  her  education.  I  don't  call  such  an 
education  complete  by  any  means;  but  1  did  not 
like  to  contradict  sister  then,  as  she  had  been 
very  loath  to  sign  her  name  to  the  will  that 
obliges  Ann  to  forfeit  her  fortune  if  she  mar 
ries  without  my  consent.  I  pressed  that  mat 
ter,  and  Alined  my  point,  and  let  sister  have 
her  <>\\n  way  in  the  rest.' 

4  IMay  be  Ann  will  not  like  me,'  said  Obed, 
witli  an  expression  of  thought  which  his  face 
seldom  wore. 

4  She  must  like  you,  or  lose  her  property, 
or  it  will  be  forfeited  to  me  if  she  marries 
without  my  consent — and  I  shall  not  give  it  to 
any  one  but  you.  But  say  nothing  to  Ann 
about  it.  Girls  always  like  to  have  their  own 
\\;»y  iu  marrying,  and  seldom  love  those  their 
friends  choose,  so  I  ha\e  contrived  to  keep 
tlu*  matter  a  secret  except  from  a  few  who 
were  \\iinesscs  in  the  matter.  Yon  must  try 
to  please  \our  cousin,  and  as  soon  as  you  can 
persuade  her  to  marry  you  I  will  put  you  in 
possession  of  all  her  fortune,  and  one  third  of 
my  own  estate.' 

k  1  should  think  you  might  give  me  one  half,' 
replied  Obed,  with  a  dissatisfied  and  sullen 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  85 

air,  i  I  don't  see  why  old  folks  want  to  keep 
everything  for  themselves.' 

Mr.  Williams  regarded  his  son  with  that 
look  of  bitter  anguish  which  the  discovery  of 
ingratitude  in  a  child  excites  in  a  parent's 
heart.  There  were  no  soothing  reflections  to 
allay  the  sting  ;  something  in  his  own  breast 
whispered  that  he  deserved  chastisement  ;  that 
he  had  been  guilty  of  the  sin  of  covetousness, 
while  professing  the  most  disinterested  con 
cern  for  his  orphan  niece,  and  remorse  for  the 
part  he  had  acted  in  obtaining  the  will,  and 
an  indefinite  dread,  that  somehow,  his  own 
child  was  to  be  the  instrument  of  punishing 
his  fault,  came  so  home  to  his  mind  and  con 
science,  that,  covering  his  face  with  his  hands, 
the  tears  he  could  not  restrain  he  allowed  to 
flow. 

Obed  was  not  naturally  hard-hearted,  and 
touched  with  this  exhibition  of  sorrow  he  wish 
ed  to  comfort  his  lather,  but  not  knowing  what 
to  say,  he  stood  twirling  his  hat  till  Mr.  Wil 
liams,  with  that  feel  ing  of  impatience  which 
self  reproach  awakens  in  the  unhumbled  heart, 
angrily  bade  him  go  about  his  business. 

Obed  departed  whistling. 

'  Pray  where  do  you  keep  your  books,  cousin 
Obed  ?'"  said  Ann  Ellsworth,  the  morning  but 
one  after  her  arrival.  1 1  have  searched  every 
part  of  the  house,  and  excepting  the  Bible,  find  ; 
nothing  worth  reading,  and  I  really  want  some 
thing  to  amuse  me.' 

'  I  should  never  think  of  looking  for  a  book 
to  amuse  myself.' 


86  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

'  And  what  do  you  like  ?'  inquired  Ann. 

(  0,  hunting  and  fishing  in  the  summer, 
and  skating  and  playing  checkers  in  the  win 
ter.' 

Ann  laughed,  but  Obed  had  sufficient  pene 
tration  to  discern  that  what  he  had  said  had 
not  raised  him  in 'her  esteem  ;  and  as  he  real 
ly  wished  to  please  her,  he  attempted  to  apol 
ogize  for  his  want  of  taste  and  literature. 

*  We  have  but  little  time  to  spend  in  read 
ing,'  said  he,  '  or  my  parents  have  none.  I, 
to  be  sure,  am  not  hurried,  for  I  will  not 
drudge  on  the  farm,  and  I  suppose  I  should 
have  liked  reading  as  well  as  you  do  if  I  had 
only  had  entertaining  books  ;  but  father  never 
would  buy  anything  but  land  and  cattle,  and 
all  he  thinks  about  is  getting  money.  He  has 
laid  up  as  much  as  I  shall  want  to  spend,  and 
that's  one  good  thing  ;  so  there  is  no  need  of 
my  working  ;  and  as  I  have  nothing  to  read,  I 
must  hunt,  and  fish,  and  play  checkers.' 

Ann  had  now  learned  that  her  cousin  was 
/idle  and  illiterate^  and  though  she  kne-vrnoth- 
in^  of  the  detects  of  h'..  *  so  com 

pletely  did  his  self-exposure  destroy  the  favor 
able  opinion  which  his  good  looks, — for  if  a 
fine  manly  form,  regular  features,  and  fair 
complexion,  constitute  beauty,  he  v/as  really 
very  handsome, — had  inspired,  that  she  never, 
from  .that  hour,  thought  Liui  agreeable. 

'  You  will  find  books  enough  if  you  go  down 
to  Mrs.  Grant's,'  said  Mrs.  Williams,  to  the 
reiterated  wishes  of  her  niece  for  something 
to  read.  '  They  are  always  reading,  though 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  87 

they  are  so  poor  I  don't  know  how  (hey  can 
afford  to  spend  their  time.' 

'  Who  is  Mrs.  Grant,  and  where  does  she 
live  ?'  asked  Ann. 

1  0,  she  is  a  poor  widow,  and  with  her  four 
daughters,  lives  in  a  little  house,  clown  in  what 
we  call  the  valley,  ahout  half  a  mile  off.' 

1 A  poor  widow,  living  in  a  small  house,' 
thought  Ann,  as,  glancing  her  eye  around  the 
handsome  apartment  in  which  she  was  seated, 
she  pondered  the  propriety  of  a  visit. 

4  They  are  poor  enough,'  continued  Mrs. 
Williams,  l  and  have  nothing  only  what  they 
earn  by  taking  in  work  and  braiding  straw.' 

1  Braiding  straw  !'  thought  Ann,  as  she 
surveyed  in  a  mirror  her  own  elegant  dress, 
and  she  almost  resolved  to  think  no  more  of 
the  Grants. 

i  And  yet,'  resumed  her  aunt,  i  to  hear  them 
talk  about  their  books,  you  would  think  they 
did  nothing  but  read;  and  then  they  are  all  so 
proud  of  Charles.' 

1  And  who  isjCharles  ?'  inquired  Ann. 

'0,  he  .is..  tUcir...Jaro53LfixJu.Jtto..o  .oldest  of  the 
family;  and  he  was  a  very  ill-looking  child, 
ancT  he  don't  look  much  better  now.  I  wish 
you  "could  see  him  beside  of  Obed.  But 
Charles  \v;;s  r;i!l--'d  ;i  <:r>od  scholar,  and  some 
how  he  hns  £-ot  alor.g  in  his  studies,  wonder 
fully,  quite  beyond  my  expectations  ;  for  he 
has  studied  law,  and  is  now  practising,  though 
he  is  only  two  years  older  than  Obed.  But 
Obed  thinks,  I  'spose,  that  he  is  rich  enough 
without  studying.' 


88  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Ann  Ellsworth  was  a  little  capricious,  for 
she  had  been  a  petted  child;  and  gay  and  high 
spirited,  for  she  was  very  fair,  and  had  been 
flattered, — but  she  had  good  sense,  and  when 
ever  she  reflected,  her  decisions  were  sure  to 
be  influenced  by  reason  and  right  principles. 
She  did  reflect  on  what  her  aunt  had  commu 
nicated,  and  the  conclusion  was  to  seek  the 
acquaintance  of  the  Miss  Grants. 

Their  dwelling,  a  low  house,  containing  only 
three  small  rooms,  besides  a  little  one  in  the 
garret  which  had  been  the  study  of  Charles, 
and  was  now  his  sisters'  library,  stood  in  a 
quiet  nook  about  twenty  rods  from  the  high 
road,  at  the  foot  of  a  green  hill  ;  and  the  front 
of  the  building  was  almost  entirely  covered 
and  concealed  by  woodbine,  and  lilacs,  and 
prime  rose  bushes,  then  in  full  blossom.  Ann 
loved  flowers,  and  books,  and  intelligent~cbn- 
versatiori ;  at  Mrs.  Grant's  she  found  them  all, 
and  after  a  few  days'  intercourse  she  could  not, 
very  complacently,  reflect  on  the  foolish  preju 
dice  which  had  so  nearly  prevented  her  from 
cultivating  the  acquaintance  of  this  amiable 
family,  merely  because  they  were  poor,  lived 
in  a  small  nouse,  and  braided  straw.  There 
is,  in  sincere  piety,  an  elevating  principle, 
which  never  fails  to  dignify  its  possessor. 
Let  the  poor  inhabitant  of  a  cottage  feel  him 
self  an  heir  of  eternal  glory^.and  envy  at  the 
prosperity  of  his  rich  neighbour,  and  repinings 
at  his  own  hard  fortune,  vain  regrets  and  idle 
wishes,  are  all  repressed.  He  bows  submis 
sively  to  the  dispensations  of  that  Providence 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  89 

"which  has  in  this  life  assigned  him  a  lowly  lot; 
and  lo'oETrig  onTyToTTtTe  set  be 

fore  him,  iTrffTnilld  and" "conversation 'are,  per 
haps  insensibly  to  himself,  imbued  with  the 
purity  and  moral  grandeur  of  that  faith  which 
istJestined  to  inherit  a  throne  in  heaven.  The 
devptioji__aLJtIrs.  Grant  was  tau^  pure  and 
elevated.  _  She  had  none  of  that  morose,  mys 
tical,  mechanical ''affectation  of  piety  which  is 
dependent  on  settled  phrases,  and  staled  sea 
sons.  Her  worship  was  not  dictated  by  fear, 
but  inspired  by  love.  c  Our  Father  which  art 
in  heaven,'  ahvays  suggested  to  her  heart  the 
idea  of  a  tender,  benevolent  and  holy  parent, 
who  was  constantly  watching  over  her  and 
hers  for  good  ;  and  when  aillictions  came  they 
were  but  the  chastenings  of  his  mercy.  -It 
was  impossible  that  Ann  Ellsworth  should  be 
come,  as  it  were,  domesticated  beneath  the 
peaceful  roof  of  Mrs.  Grant  without  observing 
the  difference  that  existed  between  its  inmates 
and  that  of  her  uncle's  elegant  dwelling.  In 
the  latter,  all  was  hurry  and  anxiety,  labor 
ancl  care  ;  exemplifying  the  truth  of  the  wise 
man's  remark,  that  'the  abundance  of  the  rich 
wrill  not  suffer  him  to  sleep.' 

And  then  the  acquisition  of  riches  brought 
no  enjoyment,  except  merely,  the  idea  of  pos 
sessing  them.  The  elegant  and  costly  furni 
ture  that  decked  the  parlour  of  Mrs.  Williams,! 
instead  of  awakening  in  her  mind  elegance  of  I 
taste,  only  suggested  ideas  of  the  money  it  had 
cost,  and  the  care  and  trouble  which  would  be 
necessary  to  preserve  it  from  injury.  She  fear- 
8 


90  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

ed  to  have  her  husband  or  child  set  their  feet  on 
the  carpeted  floor,  and  whenever  they  did,  then 
were  sharp  reproofs  on  her  part,  saucy  retorts 
from  her  son,  and  surly  grumblings  from'  the 
lord  of  the  mansion  on  the  inconvenience  to 
which  such  newfangled  decorations  subjected 
him. 

But  at  Mrs.  Grant's,  all  was  quietness  and 
affection  ;  and  though  they  were  necessitated 
fo  earn  their  livelihood,  they  did  not  neglect  to 
cultivate  that  refinement  of  fe_ejing,  mind,  and 
manners,  which  gives  a  zest  to  social  inter 
course.  .Mrs.  Grant  possessed  great,  decision 
of  character.  This  quality  is  rare  in  woman  ; 
whether  in  consequence  of  her  more  delicate 
organization,  or  the  dependent  situation  in 
which  nature  and  education  have  placed  her, 
is  of  no  consequence  to  inquire.  While  she 
has  judicious  friends  and  kind  protectors,  she 
can  very  well  dispense  with  that  kind  of  ener 
getic  decision  displayed  by  men,  which  seems 
to  be  attained  only  by  deep  reflection,  when  the 
rnind  has  been  tasked  to  judge  of  the  fitness  of 
a  proposition  with  reference  to  its  ultimate  im 
portance  alone,  and  when  that  is  clear,  feels 
prepared  to  encounter  every  obstacle  the  world 
can  raise  to  its  accomplishment.  Such  deci 
sion  only  becomes  necessary  to  woman  in  ad 
versity.  Let  no  one  imagine  its  exertion  con 
tributes  to  the  happiness  of  a  female.  It  may 
rbe  her  duly,  it  should  never  be  her  desire. 

There  is  no  human  mind  exempt  from  weak 
nesses.  Mrs.  Grant  had  hers,  and  the  most 
prominent  one  was  the  fondness  with  which 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  91 

she  doted  on  her  children,  especially  her  son. 
Her  neighbours  declared  she  was  never  heard 
to  converse  five  minutes  without  mentioning 
Charles.  She  certainly  contrived  very  soon 
to  introduce  his  name  to  Ann  Ellsworth  ;  and 
tell  of  his  genius,  and  discretion,  and  kind  heart; 
always  adding,  that  under  Heaven,  he  was  all 
her  dependence.  '  The  girls,'  she  would  say, 
*  are  good,  and  industrious,  and  obedient ;  but 
what  can  girls  do  ?  Charles  takes  thought  for 
us  all.  He  assists  me,  and  advises  them,  and 
provides  for  himself ;  and  it  is  all  owing  to  him, 
that  his  sisters  are  so  well  educated.  He  gave 
them  all  their  books,  and  taught  them  when  he 
was  here,  and  writes  to  them  now  he  is  away, 
and  never  seems  weary  of  the  task.  He  gave 
me,  too,  my  large  Bible,  because  my  eyes  had 
grown  weak,  and  I  never  open  it  without  thank- 
in*  Heaven  for  having  blessed  me  with  such  a 
son.  I  want,  Miss  Ellsworth,  you  should  see 
him.  He  is  not  handsome,  to  be  sure,  noth 
ing  so  handsome  as  Obed  Williams,  but  when 
you  are  once  acquainted  with  him,  you  will  not 
notice  his  plainness.  I  do  wish  he  would  come 
home  while  you  are  here.' 

Ann  cordially  joined  in  the  wish  ;  the  letters 
he  sent  his  sisters  were  often  shown  her$  and 
combined,  with  what  she  otherwise  heard,  to 
give  her  a  high  opinion  of  his  talents  and 
character.  Her  situation  in  her  uncle's  family 
had  grown  almost  intolerable.  She  was  so 
wearied  with  their  eternally  reiterated  com 
plaints  of  bad  health,  and  bad  weather,  bad 
crops,  and  bad  markets,  which  constituted  the 


92  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

chief  topics  of  their  discourse,  when  together  ; 
when  separated,  they  were  usually  complain 
ing  of  each  other.  Obed  thought  his  parents 
cross  and  stingy — they  called  him  idle  and  ex 
travagant, — and  poor  Ann  had  to  hear  it  all. 
One  beautiful  forenoon,  in  the  month  of  Au 
gust,  Ann  called  at  Mrs.  Grant's,  as  usual,  to 
pass  an  hour,  but  found  them  all  engaged  in 
preparation,  as  if  for  some  expected  guest. 
The  floor  of  their  little  parlour  was  newly 
sanded,  the  fire-place  filled  with  fresh  green 
boughs,  and  the  few  flowers  their  garden  at 
that  late  season  afforded,  were  gathered  and 
placed  in  glass  tumblers,  disposed  on  the  man 
tel-piece. 

1  We  have  just  received  a  letter  from 
Charles,'  said  Mrs.  Grant,  her  face  radiant 
with  smiles,  '  and  we  expect  him  every  mo 
ment.  I  can  truly  say  I  am  glad,  and  I  hope 
I  am  grateful.  We  did  riot  expect  him  this 
month, — and  he  is  coming  now.  But  do,  my 
dear  Miss  Ellsworth,  sit  down  ;  the  girls  will 
hardly  be  at  leisure  to  walk  with  you  at  pre 
sent, — but  if  you  will  stay  till  Charles  comes, 
I  presume  he  will  be  happy  to  take  a  ramble., — 
and  you  can  all  go  together.' 

Ann  excused  herself  from  staying,  by  plead 
ing  engagements  at  home  ;  and  as  she  slowly 
and  solitarily  pursued  the  path  to  her  uncle's, 
she  reflected  much  on  the  insufficiency  of 
wealth  to  confer  happiness  on  a  family,  whose 
members  are  neither  united  by  the  confidence 
of  affection  towards  each  other,  nor  by  grati 
tude  and  love  to  the  Giver  of  every  good. 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  93 

Charles  Grant  arrived,  and  in  due  time  was 
introduced  to  Ann  ;  and  the  fair  reader  un 
doubtedly  expects  to  hear  of  their  mutual  and 
immediate  prepossession  in  each  other's  favor. 
Charles  Grant,  however,  was  not  a  man  with 
whom  a  woman  would  be  very  likely  to  fall  in 
love  with  at  first  sight.  He  was  plain,  almost 
to  ugliness,  small  and  thin,  with  harsh  fea 
tures,  and  sallow  complexion,  and  gray  eyes, 
— and  the  only  redeeming  point  in  his  appear 
ance,  was  a  finely  formed  forehead,  around 
which  his  dark  hair  gracefully  clustered.  But 
he  was  so  intelligent  and  agreeable,  and  af 
fectionate  to  his  mother  and  sisters,  and  so 
gentlemanly,  Ann  could  not  help  esteeming 
his  character,  and  delighting  in  his  society. 
Three  weeks  he  allowed  for  his  visit,  and  said, 
during  that  time,  he  should  trace  all  the  haunts 
of  his  childhood  ;  and  he  usually  persuaded 
his  sisters  and  Ann  to  accompany  him  in  his 
rambles  and  excursions.  Obed  Williams,  al 
so,  dressed  in  his  '  very  best,'  always  was 
there,  for  jealousy  of  the  superior  abilities  of 
Charles,  and  fears  that  he  would  gain  the 
favor  of  Ann,  had  operated  to  make  Obed  fancy 
himself  violently  in  love  with  his  cousin  ;  and 
he  studiously  endeavoured  to  display  advanta 
geously  before  her,  what  he  considered  of  vast 
importance,  his  fine  person.  He  had  better 
have  staid  at  home.  Ann  did  often  see 
Charles  and  Obed  beside  each  other,  but  it 
was  when  the  one  was  all  animation, — his 
plain  features  glowing  with  intelligence,  and 
his  gray  eye  sparkling  with  the  wit  and  vivac- 


94  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

ity  that  flowed  so  enchantingly  from  his  lips — 
while  the  other  stood  in  stupid  or  wondering 
silence, — his  handsome  features  dull  and  un 
varying  as  a  barber's  block. 

It  was  then  that  the  heart  of  Ann  confessed 
the  truth  of  the  poet's  assertion,  that 

'  .Mind,  mind  alone,  (hear  witness  earth  and  heaven,) 
The  living  fountain  in  itself  contains 
Of  beauteous  and  sublime ' 

and  though  she  did  not  look  and  love,  she  lis 
tened  with  such  undisguised  pleasure,  for  her 
mind  was  all  artlessness,  that  before  the  '  three 
little  weeks'  were  expired,  Charles  had  dared 
to  whisper  his  admiration,  and  had  not  been  for 
bidden  to  hope.  Obed,  at  the  discovery  of  his 
cousin's  partiality  for  his  rival,  was  filled  with 
rage  and  envy.  He  declared  Charles  was 
wholly  influenced  by  pecuniary  motives,  and 
that  Ann,  like  all  young  ladies,  who  fancy  them 
selves  educated,  despised  the  laboring  class, 
and  thought  a  professional  man  only  worthy  her 
smiles.  This  is  an  observation  often  urged  by 
.  farmers.  The  fault  is  all  their  own.  No  class 
of  men  in  our  own  country,  are  so  independent 
as  the  agriculturists,  and  none  would  be  more 
respected,  did  they  only  cultivate  their  minds  as 
assiduously  as  their  acres.  They  plead  want  of 
leisure  ; — let  them  improve  what  they  have — 
the  stormy  days — the  long  winter  evenings — 
opportunities  are  not  wanting — books  are  with 
in  their  reach — the  road  to  honor  and  high 
station  is  open  before  them,  and  yet  they  sit 
down,  not  contentedly  to  be  sure,  for  the  soul 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  05 

of  an  American  cannot  rest  contented  in  igno 
rance^  aUcTbTDScurity,  while  light,  and  knowl 
edge,  and  energy,  and  enterprise  are  with  the 
spirit  of  liberty,  abroad  in  the  world  ;  but  they 
sit  "down  in  envious  repining*,  at  the  late  which 
has  assigned  them  the  task  of  tilling  the  earth, 
when  they  should  .be,  exerting  themselves  to 
obtain  that  knowledge  which  will  confer  honor 
and  dignity  on  their  employment. 

Ann  Ellsworth  did  not  despise  Obed  because 
he  was  a  farmer,  but  because  he  was  idle  and 
illiterate.'  \Neither  was  the  choice  of  Charles 
Grant  influenced  by  pecuniary  motives  ;  yet 
had  Ann,  with  her  tastes  and  education,  been 
poor,  he  would  hardly  have  dared  to  whisper 
his  love,  till  he  had  acquired  the  means  of 
supporting  herln  the  style  which  she  would 
probably  have  expected  from  a  husband  in  his 
station.  But  all  such  objections  were  now 
obviated  by  the  fortune  she  would  inherit  ;  and 
while  he  felt,  that  had' he  possessed  a  prince 
dom,  Ann  would  stiil  be  the  object  of  his  af 
fection,  in  preference  to  any  woman  he  had 
ever  seen,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  avow  his  par 
tiality  because  the  world  might  say  he  was 
mercenary. 

Mr.  Williams  listened  to  the  application  of 
Charles,  for  consent  to  marry  his  niece,  with 
an  air  in  which  anger  and  exultation  were 
strangely  blended.  '  You  are  doubtless  think 
ing  that  Ann  has  a  fortune  at  her  command,' 
said  ho,  with  a  sneer. 

'  I  have  not  asked  your  consent  for  her  for 
tune.,  but  for  her,'  dryly  observed  Charles. 


96  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

i  My  consent  is  indeed  of  some  consequence 
in  this  matter,'  returned  Mr.  Williams,  with 
affected  solemnity  :  '  But  I  have  my  duty  to  per 
form.  Read  that  paper,  Mr.  Grant.' 

It  was  the  ( last  will  and  testament'  of  Mrs. 
Ellsworth  ;  and  Charles  there  learned  that  the 
consent  of  Mr.  Williams  to  the  marriage  of 
Ann  was  necessary,  otherwise  her  fortune  was 
forfeited  to  her  uncle. 

'  And  read  this  'ere  paper,  too,  Mr.  Grant,' 
continued  Mr.  Williams. 

It  was  a  paper  expressing  the  wishes  of  Mrs. 
Ellsworth  that  her  daughter  should  marry  Obed 
Williams. 

c  You  see  how  I  am  situated,'  resumed 
the  crafty  old  man.  i  My  sister,  knowing  her 
daughter  was  gay  and  giddy,  and  that  her  for 
tune  would  attract  the  young  sparks,  who  are 
watching  to  obtain  a  rich  wife,  insisted  that  I 
should  take  the  girl  and  her  property  as  my 
own,  and  when  she  was  old  enough  to  marry, 
give  her  to  my  son.  My  conscience  will  not 
permit  me  to  violate  the  trust.' 

1  Is  the  young  lady  apprized  of  this  ?'  inquir 
ed  Charles. 

1  0,  no — I  hoped  she  would  become  attach 
ed  to  Obed,  and  I  think  she  will  now,  if  no 
other  person  attempts  to  engage  her  affections. 
I  have  told  you  all,  sir,  because  I  believe  you 
are  a  reasonable  young  man,  and  will  not 
think  it  worth  while  to  deprive  the  girl  of  her 
fortune,  just  for  a  little  foolish  fancy.  You 
see,  under  all  ^circumstances,  I  cannot  give 
you  my  consent.' 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  97 

{ Have  you  any  objection  to  my  character 
or  situation  ?' 

1  0,  no — but  I  am  determined  she  shall  mar 
ry  Obed,  and  I  do  not  think  it  my  duty  to  give 
you  my  consent.' 

'  And  what  if  Miss  Ellsworth  should  marry 
me  without  it  ?' 

'  Then  her  property  shall  be  my  son's.  It 
was  the  dying  request  of  my  sister.  The  es 
tate  was  left  her  by  my  father,  and  she  said  it 
should  never  go  out  of  the  family.  My  duty, 
in  such  a  case,  is  plain,  sir.' 

1  You  may  look  over  the  will  as  much  as 
you  please,'  resumed  Mr.  Williams,  sarcasti 
cally.  '  You'll  find  no  flaws,  by  which  you 
can  get  the  property,  after  you  marry  Ann,  I 
promise  you.  That  'ere  will  was  drawn  by  as 
cunning  a  lawyer  as  you  are,  sir.' 

Charles  did  examine  it,  coolly  and  minutely, 
till  satisfied  there  were  no  flaws;  he  laid  it 
down,  saying,  i  It  is  not  merely  on  account  of 
the  property  that  I  display  this  interest.  I 
consider  my  happiness  and  that  of  Miss  Ells 
worth  involved.  And  though  I  will  not  believe 
she  can  ever  prefer  your  son,  notwithstanding 
he  is  heir  to  your  estate,  and  has  the  rever 
sion  of  hers  in  his  grasp  ;  yet  I  own  the  possi 
bility  that  she  may  think  our  mutual  poverty 
should,  for  the  present,  prevent  her  from  giv 
ing  me  the  right  to  protect  her,  troubles  me.' 

'  Do  you  then  intend  to  marry  her  without 
my  consent  ?' 

i  If  I  can  obtain  hers,  I  shall  not  hesitate  on 
account  of  the  forfeiture.' 
9 


98  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

6  You  can  do  as  you  please,  hut  I  raly  thought 
you  had  more  sense,'  said  Williams,  tauntingly. 
'  And  as  little  feeling  and  honor  as — but  good 
morning,  sir  ;'  and  slightly  bowing,  Charles  de 
parted  in  search  of  his  beloved.  The  conversa 
tion  of  the  lovers  cannot  be  given  at  length,  but 
the  conclusion  was  that  Ann,  either  convinced 
by  the  arguments  or  melted  by  the  entreaties  of 
Charles,  consented  to  wed  him  immediately. 

'  I  would  not  urge  you  thus  hastily  to  unite 
your  fate  with  mine,'  said  Charles,  '  while  I  am 
poor,  and  incapable  of  supporting  you  as  I 
could  wish,  had  you  any  relative,  except  this 
avaricious  uncle,  with  whom  to  reside.  It  i» 
evident  that  he  covets  your  estate.  We  will 
let  him  enjoy  it  undisturbed.  You  would  not 
surely  preserve  it  by  marrying  Obed  ? ' 

f  I  cannot  believe  my  dear  mother,  were  she 
living,  would  consent  I  should  marry  him,'  said 
Ann,  weeping — '  0  why  did  she  sign  that  cru 
el  paper  ?' 

'  Probably  when  her  mind  was  weakened  by 
sickness,'  replied  Charles.  '  I  am  convinced 
your  uncle  used  artifice  to  obtain  it.  But  we 
will  leave  him  to  Heaven  and  his  own  con 
science,  and  think  no  more  of  the  matter.  If 
we  cannot  be  rich,  my  love,  we  will  be  happy.' 
Ann  \\iis  a  gay  girl,  and  fond  of  society,  but 
she  had  good  sense.  She  knew  she  had  mar 
ried  a  poor  man,  and  though  she  was  a  little 
romantic,  she  did  not  allow  herself  to  expect  to 
find  in  a  cottage  the  luxuries  of  a  palace,  or 
that  her  husband,  from  only  the  income  of  his 
profession,  could  furnish  for  her  the  elegances 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  99 

the  rich  are  at  liberty  to  enjoy.  She  did  not, 
therefore,  anticipate  the  delight  of  residing  in 
a  fine  house,  and  the  parade  of  a  wedding  par 
ty,  and  morning  calls,  and  evening  entertain 
ments — but  was  contented  to  occupy  a  plain 
apartment,  plainly  furnished,  and  pass  the  bri 
dal  year  busily  employed  with  her  needle,  or 
her  books.  It  is  true,  she  did,  at  times,  during 
the  long  days,  feel  a  little  moped — but  when 
the  evening  came,  and  freed  Charles  from  his 
office,  how  joyfully  she  greeted  his  step,  and 
exerted  herself  to  soothe  all  his  cares;  and  how 
delightedly  she  listened  to  his  instructions  and 
advice,  while  in  unreserved  confidence  slie  told 
him  all  she  had  read,  and  all  she  had  thought. 
Milton's  heroine  preferred  to  listen  to  the 
truths  of  philosophy  from  her  husband's  lip, 
rather  than  the  angel's. 

Charles,  meanwhile,  applied  himself  with 
all  the  energy  inspired  by  love  and  ambition, 
to  the  prosecution  of  his  business,  and  thought 
every  toil  and  perplexity  repaid  by  the  sweet 
smiles  that  always  awaited  him  by  his  own  fire 
side.  Thirty  years  have  jpassed  away  since 
they  were  married."  Thirty  "years  make  little 
alteration  in  the  appearance  of  nature.  It  is 
on  man  and  his  works  that  the  characters  of 
time  are  impressed.  And  probably  in  no  part 
of  the  world  are  changes  so  apparent  as  in  our 
beloved  country.  The  spirit  of  restlessness  as 
well  as  improvement,  pervades  our  citizens. 
This  would  naturally  be  the  case  with  men, 
when  an  extensive  country  is  open  before  them, 
and  all  are  at  liberty  to  remove  withersoever 


100  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

they  please.  The  spirit  of  emigration  is  pro 
ductive  of  many  good  effects,  and  some  melan 
choly  ones.  There  is  a  feeling  of  sadness  in 
the  parent's  heart  while  reflecting  that  the 
household  band,  so  fondly  reared  together,  will 
probably,  in  a  few  years,  be  so  far,  and  so 
widely  severed.  Let  no  man,  while  planning 
his  lofty  dwelling,  flatter  himself  he  is  building 
for  his  own  posterity — the  son  of  his  enemy 
may  inhabit  there. 

The  parents  of  Obed  Williams  fondly  imagin 
ed  the  estate  they  had  so  eagerly  toiled  to  gain 
and  improve,  would  be  highly  valued  by  their 
son — but  they  had  the  grief  and  mortification 
of  seeing  the  part  assigned  him,  on  his  mar 
riage,  soon  disposed  of;  and  the  chagrin  and 
sorrow  they  endured  in  consequence  of  his  un- 
dutiful  and  prodigal  conduct,  it  was  thought 
hastened  their  death.  Obed,  then,  for  a  few 
years,  revelled  in  luxury;  but  finally,  increas 
ing  debts  began  to  harass  him,  and  as  the  small 
estimation  in  which  he  knew  he  had  been  held, 
notwithstanding  he  was  heir  to  the  best  estate 
in  the  country,  had  always  provoked  him,  he 
disposed  of  his  property,  at  a  reduced  price, 
and  departed  for  Ohio, — where  he  flattered 
himself  he  should  be  considered  a  great  man. 
But  the  people  in  the  western  states  have  long 
since  learned  to  distinguish  between  the  igno 
rant  adventurer  who  has  nothing  but  his  own 
egotism  to  recommend  him,  and  the  man  of  en 
terprise  and  intelligence  seeking  a  wider  sphere 
for  the  exertion  of  his  talents — and  Obed  Wil 
liams  gained  nothing  by  the  removal. 


ANN  ELLSWORTH.  •  10! 

There  is  One  event  happeneth  to  all,  and  the 
changes  of  time  are  alike  on  the  evil  and  the 
good.  Thirty  years  have  blanched  the  dark 
locks  of  Charles,  and  planted  wrinkles  on  the 
fair  face  of  Ann.  The  vivacity  of  youth  and 
the  glow  of  beauty  must  decay,  even  the  ar 
dor  of  imagination  is  chilled,  and  the  light  of 
the  understanding  darkened  by  the  cold  pall 
of  years.  There  is  but  one.  earthly  flower  that 
blooms jmfacling  iri  OUr"eai'thly  path — it  is  the 
true  love  of  virtuous  hearts.  The  lapse  of 
thirty  years  has  wrought  no  change  on  the 
affection  of  Charles  and  Ann.  She  listens  as 
delightedly  to  his  conversation  as  when  his 
eloquence  first  won  her  smile  ;  and  that  smile 
is  just  as  dear  to  him  as  when  he  first  called 
her  his  bride.  But  their  situation  is  changed. 
Thirty  years  of  industry  and  economy  have 
given  them  an  independent  fortune,  and  what 
is  far  better  than  gold,  a  name  and  a  praise 
for  every  excellence  that  dignifies  human  na 
ture.  Satisfied  with  their  portion  of  the  world, 
they  wished  to  retire  from  its  bustle,  and 
Charles  Grant  has  lately  purchased  the  farm 
formerly  owned  by  Mr.  Williams.  It  was  en 
deared  to  him  by  many  recollections.  Its 
shades  had  been  the  haunts  of  his  boyhood — it 
was  there  he  v/on  the  heart  of  his  beloved  wife, 
and  above  all,  it  was  near  the  dwelling  of  his 
aged  mother.  So  he  purchased,  and  is  im 
proving  the  farm,  and  the  passing  traveller  is 
not  now  mistaken  when  he  deems  the  beautiful 
residence  the  abode  of  content  and  happiness. 


' ''  I  " 

THE 
VILLAGE   SCHOOLMISTRESS. 


'  Life,  like  every  other  blessing, 

Derives  its  value  from  its  use  alone  ; 

Nor  for  itself,  but  for  a  nobler  end 

The  Eternal  gave  it — and  that  end  is  virtue. 

S.  JOHNSON. 

THE  peculiar  characteristics  of  females,  be 
ing  less  distinctly  marked,  are  much  more  dif 
ficult  to  be  delineated  than  those  of  the  other 
sex.  There  are  various  pursuits  by  which 
men  may  hope  to  obtain  happiness  and  dis 
tinction — for  women  there  is  but  one  path — 
her  success  in  life  depends  entirely  on  her  do 
mestic  establishment.  Let  the  education  of 
women  differ  ever  so  much  in  detail,  its  end 
is  the  same,  to  qualify  them  to  become  wives 
and  mothers;  and  in  every  station  the  object 
of  female  ambition  is  to  marry  well.  This 
similarity  of  purpose  produces  a  similarity 
of  thought,  feeling,  action,  and  consequently 
character,  which  no  uniformity  of  training 
could  otherwise  bestow.  And  then,  the  busi 
ness  of  married  women,  though  varying  in 
ceremonials,  according  to  the  circumstances  or 
rank  of  the  respective  husbands,  is  essentially 
alike. 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  103 

*  To  study  household  good, 

And  good  works  in  her  husband  to  promote  ;' 

and  to  cherish  and  watch  over  her  offspring, 
are,  in  our  country,  the  employments  for  life 
of  each  individual.  (I  have  not  taken  into  this 
amount  those  modish  ladies  who  appear  to 
think  themselves  born  only  to  be  amused,  be 
cause  such  a  class  is  scarcely  recognised  in 
our  republican  land — here  happily,  in  public 
estimation,  the  useful  yet  takes  precedence  of 
the  fashionable.)  While  such  only  are  the  of 
fices  and  duties  which  women  are  expected  to 
perform,  it  would  be  absurd  to  think  they 
would  exhibit  that  variety  of  talent,  or  those 
prominent  and  peculiar  qualities  of  mind,  that 
distinguish  men  of  different  professions  and 
dissimilar  occupations.  What  a  contrast,  in 
the  principles  and  pursuits  of  men,  since  the 
time  that  Peter  the  Hermit  first  raised  the 
standard  of  the  cross,  and  saw  nations  enrol 
themselves  beneath  the  sacred  symbol,  and  this 
age  of  free  inquiry,  of  rational  improvement, 
of  useful  invention  !  What  sympathy  would 
there  be  between  the  opinions  and  feelings  of 
a  crusader  of  the  reign  of  Occur  de  Lion,  and 
an  enlightened  philosopher  of  our  own  nation  ? 
— the  one,  in  his  mailed  armour  traversing  the 
burning  plains  of  Syria,  considering  the  rescue 
of  Jerusalem  from  the  grasp  of  the  infidels,  as 
the  greatest  and  most  meritorious  action  mor 
tal  man  could  perform  ;  the  other,  contempla 
ting,  with  a  calm  delight  that  scenes  of  car 
nage  never  afforded,  the  proposed  route  of  a 
rail  road  or  canal,  which,  completed,  would 


104  AMERICAN  SKETCHES 

give  to  peaceful  industry,  the  means  of  raising 
cities  on  the  site  of  the  wilderness  ? 

Yet  woman  is  still  the  same— still  seeking 
her  earthly  happiness  only  bjj  subduing  the 
heart  of  lordly  man}— still  endeavouring  to 
heighten  and  set  off  her  personal  attractions 
by  dress  and  accomplishments,  that  she  may 
thus  secure  the  constant  devotion  of  some  gal 
lant  knight. 

This  distinction  in  the  pursuits  of  the  two 
sexes  could  never  have  been  so  firmly  estab 
lished,  and  so  long  and  uniformly  upheld,  in 
every  country  and  among  every  people,  by 
mere  human  authority  and  custom.  In  de 
signating  woman  as  i  a  helpmate  '  for  man,  the 
Creator  marked  her  destiny  :  and  to  fit  her  for 
the  task,  mercifully  infused  into  her  soul  deep 
attachment  for  home,  enduring  tenderness  for 
her  offspring,  and  to  the  '  one  she  loves,'  that 
constancy  in  affection,  which  rarely  decays 
till  her  heart  is  cold  in  death.  She  cannot 
break  these  bonds  if  she  would.  It  is  idle  to 
talk  of  the  f  Rights  of  Woman,'  if  they  are 
made  to  consist  but  in  placing  her  in  a  station 
manifestly  contrary  to  the  intentions  of  Provi 
dence.  It  is  worse  than  weak,  it  is  wicked  to 
say  she  is  degraded  by  fulfilling  those  duties 
nature  assigned  her  ;  because  the  mind  is  not 
circumscribed  by  time,  or  confined  to  earth  ; 
and  in  the  promises  of  eternal  glory,  woman 
participates  equally  with  her  'lord.'  Indeed 
were  not  all  boasting  excluded  she  might 
claim  the  advantage — the  Saviour  of  the  world 
was  peculiarly  her  seed,  and  the  honor  of  hav- 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  105 

ing  the  One  who  brought  life  and  immortality 
to  our  fallen  race  named  of  her,  establishes  at 
once  her  claim  to  a  full  participation  of  mind, 
of  soul,  of  that  portion  of  our  being  which  is 
destined  for  immortality.  It  is  then  absurd 
for  woman  to  complain  that  her  sphere  on 
earth  is  less  honorable  than  that  of  man,  be 
cause  it  is  different;  or  imagine  that  the  privi 
lege  of  commanding  armies  or  convincing 
senates  would  add  to  her  importance,  useful 
ness  and  happiness — because  it  must  be  evi 
dent  to  all  who  consider  the  subject,  that  such 
was  not  the  part  assigned  her  by  Him  who  di- 
recteth  all  things  in  wisdom.  The  great  ef 
fort  therefore  of  female  education,  should  be 
to  qualify  woman  to  discharge  her  duties,  not 
to  exalt  her  till  she  despises  them  ;  to  make  it 
her  ambition  to  merit  and  display  the  charac 
ter  of  the  most  amiable  and  intelligent  of  her 
sex,  rather  than  aspire  to  emulate  the  capacity 
and  conduct  of  men.  In  our  country,  where, 
under  the  mild  light  of  Christianity,  free  insti 
tutions  guarantee  freedom  of  thought,  of  ex 
pression,  of  action,  the  full  and  free  develope- 
ment  of  mind  may  rationally  be  expected  ;  and 
here,  if  in  any  country  on  earth,  women  may 
hope  to  take  their  true,  their  most  dignified 
station,  as  the  helpers,  the  companions,  of  ed 
ucated  and  independent  men.  And  while  our 
citizens  are  endeavouring  so  to  improve  their 
inestimable  privileges,  that  the  men  of  future 
ages  may  be  better  and  happier  for  their  la 
bors,  have  women  no  share  in  the  important 
task  ?  Their  influence  on  the  manners  is 


106  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

readily  and  willingly  conceded  by  every  one  ; 
might  not  their  influence  on  the  mind  be  made 
quite  as  irresistible,  and  far  more  beneficial, 
and  that,  too,  without  violating  in  the  least, 
the  propriety ,  which,  to  make  their  examples 
valuable,  should  ever  mark  their  conduct  ? 
The  business  of  instruction  is  one  of  vast  inter 
est,  because  fraught  with  such  important  con 
sequences  to  Americans.  It  is  necessary  that 
all  our  people  should  be  instructed,  as  univer 
sal  education  is  the  main  pillar  that  must 
eventually  support  the  temple  of  our  liberty. 
It  is  therefore  a  duty  sacredly  binding  on  our 
legislators  to  provide  for  the  instruction,  dur 
ing  childhood  and  youth,  of  every  member  of 
our  republic.  But  while  there  are  so  many 
pursuits,  more  lucrative  and  agreeable  to  ac 
tive  and  ambitious  young  men,  there  will  be  a 
lack  of  good  instructors — of  those  who  are  wil- 
Hng  to  make  it  their  business.  Let,  then,  the 
employment  of  school-keeping  be  principally 
appropriated  to  females.  They  are  both  by 
temper  and  habit,  admirably  qualified  for  the 
task — they  have  patience,  fondness  for  child 
ren,  and  are  accustomed  to  seclusion  and  in 
ured  to  self-government.  Is  it  objected  that 
they  do  not  possess  sufficient  soundness  of 
learning — that  their  acquirements  arc  superfi 
cial,  showy,  frivolous  ?  The  fault  is  in  their 
education,  not  in  the  female  mind.  Only  af 
ford  them  opportunities  of  improvement  and 
motives  for  exertion  ;  let  them  be  assured,  that 

* to  sins,  to  dnnoo, 

To  dress,  and  troll  the  tongue-,  and  roll  the  eye,1 


VILLAGE   SCHOOLMISTRESS.  107 

is  not  all  that  is  required  to  make  young  ladies 
agreeable  or  likely  to  be  sought  by  the  gentle 
men — that  they  may  converse  sensibly  without 
the  charge  of  pedantry,  and  be  intelligent 
Avithout  the  appellation  of  a  blue  ;  in  short,  that 
they  are  expected  to  be  rational,  and  required 
to  be  useful,  and  they  will  not  disappoint  pub 
lic  expectation. 

But  I  may  not  dwell  on  the  subject  ;  my  pre 
face  is  already  too  long.  Readers  soon  tire  of 
prefaces,  arid  skip  them,  and  so  the  labor  of 
writing  them  is  lost.  Writers  should  never 
flatter  themselves  everything  from  their  pens 
will  be  seized  with  avidity.  Yet  still  it  is,  per 
haps,  best  they  should  not  know  how  slightly 
many  passages,  they  imagine  most  excellent, 
are  passed  over  ;  how  carelessly  opinions  and 
sentiments,  they  consider  of  vital  importance 
to  the  interests  and  improvement  of  society,  are 
read.  They  would  not  persevere  could  the 
mortifying  truth  be  fully  unfolded,  namely, 
that  the  chief  importance  of  an  author  is  in 
his  own  estimation.  Yet  my  preface  will  have 
all  the  importance  I  wish,  if  it  has  any  tenden 
cy  to  awaken  the  attention  of  parents,  and  those 
who  have  the  superintendence  of  female  edu 
cation,  to  examine  whether  there  be  not  some 
end  and  aim  besides  a  mere  drawing-room  dis 
play,  to  which  the  exertion  of  female  talent 
may,  with  propriety,  be  directed.  Yet  to  make 
such  a  plan  effectual,  it  must  be  made  fashion 
able — the  business  of  instruction  must  be  di 
vested  of  its  associations  of  pretension  arid 
pedantry,  and  dulness  and  drilling.  It  must  / 


108  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

be  esteemed  amiable,  and  comporting  with 
feminine  gracefulness  and  delicacy  as  well  as 
dignity  ;  and  moreover,  it  must  be  sufficiently 
lucrative  to  insure  an  honorable  independence. 
Whenever  such  a  f  consummation,'  which  I,  for 
one,  most  'devoutly  wish,'  shall  occur,  the  char 
acter  of  the  schoolmistress  will  become  inter 
esting  and  important ;  the  office  of  instructress 
will  not  be  sought  merely  as  the  resource  of 
necessity  and  misfortune  ;  but  ladies  will  en 
gage  in  it,  more  sedulous  to  display  their  ac 
quirements  and  graces  by  the  progress  of  their 
pupils,  than  an  exhibition  of  themselves.  And 
then  the  story  of  Elizabeth  Brooks  will  be 
read  with  interest,  and  her  example  considered 
worthy  of  imitation.  Elizabeth  Brooks  was  a 
native  of  Walpole,  N.  II.  Writers  of  fiction 
usually  introduce  the  epithets  '  retired'  or  '  ro 
mantic'  before  the  name  of  the  place  where 
they  locate  the  residence  of  their  heroine. 
Such  of  my  readers  as  have  had  the  opportu 
nity  of  visiting  Walpole  and  its  environs — who 
have  gazed  on  the  '  Falls,'  while  standing  be 
neath  the  overhanging  mountain,  till  fancy  al 
most  saw  the  mighty  mass  trembling  as  if  about 
to  precipitate  itself  into  the  gulf  beneath;  while 
the  agitation  and  whirl  of  the  waters,  as  they 
rush,  and  boil,  and  foam,  among  the  broken 
rocks,  may,  by  no  great  effort  of  the  imagina 
tion,  be  ascribed  to  their  fear  of  the  impend 
ing  crush,  and  their  hurry  to  escape  from  the 
threatened  ruin — and  then  glanced  on  the  op 
posite  shore,  where,  amidst  plenty  and  beauty, 
rural  content  seems  to  have  fixed  her  seat, 


VILLAGE   SCHOOLMISTRESS.  109 

will  not  need  be  told  that  Walpole  and  its  en 
virons  are  romantic.  '  Retired'  is  a  more  rela 
tive  term — to  an  inhabitant  of  Boston,  the  place 
would  be  retired.  When  Elizabeth  was  born, 
her  father  was  an  affluent  merchant  in  the  city 
of  Hartford — when  she  was  seventeen,  he  kept 
a  small  boarding  house  in  Walpole,  lord  of  noth 
ing  on  earth,  save  the  affection  of  his  wife  and 
child.  Sickness,  as  well  as  misfortune,  had 
assailed  him  ;  he  was  dying  of  consumption, 
and  before  she  was  eighteen,  she  was  fatherless. 
In  youth  we  seldom  yield  to  despondency.  Life 
has  then  so  many  bright  visions,  some  must 
gild  the  path  appointed  us.  It  is  not  strange 
such  fancies  should  soothe  Elizabeth,  for  the 
star  of  love  brightened  her  horizon.  She  was 
very  young,  only  fifteen,  when  her  acquain 
tance  with  William  Forbes  commenced.  He 
was  then  preparing  for  college,  and  sought  her 
society  because  she,  more  than  any  one,  seem 
ed  to  appreciate  his  studies.  Yet  it  was  more 
the  complacency  of  her  disposition,  than  liking 
for  his  person,  that  first  induced  Elizabeth  to 
admit  his  visits.  He  was  a  scholar  rather  than 
a  lover,  and  she  had  much  oflener  to  listen  to 
scraps  of  Latin  and  Greek  quotations,  than 
compliments  or  soft  words.  But  then  he  fur 
nished  her  with  books,  of  which  she  was  im 
moderately  fond,  and  he  discussed  with  her  the 
merits  of  her  favorite  heroes,  and  the  beauties 
of  her  favorite  poets  ;  and  translated  learned 
mottoes,  and  explained  obscure  allusions,  till 
finally,  from  finding  his  presence  necessary, 
she  began  to  regret  his  absence  ;  his  idea  was 


110  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

often  and  oftener  recurring  ;  she  thought  of 
him,  and  loved  to  think  of  him — was  she  not 
then  in  love  ?  Hers  was  not  certainly  roman 
tic  love — such  as  is  enkindled  by  a  bright  eye, 
graceful  form,  fascinating  manners,  &c.  It 
was  the  calm,  confiding  esteem  and  affection, 
that  will  last  unimpaired  through  all  the  chan 
ges  of  human  life.  Wedded  love  must  be  thus 
rational,  thus  founded  on  esteem,  or  it  will 
never  endure.  The  raptures  of  fancy  will  de 
cay,  if  not  with  the  first  moon,  with  the  first 
year. 

It  is  usually  thought  those  who  are  beloved, 
must  be  lovely — but  the  comeliness  of  Eliza 
beth  was  almost  entirely  owing  to  a  fair  com 
plexion,  and  a  kind,  benignant  expression  of 
countsnance,  that  assured  the  beholder  of  the 
gentleness  of  her  heart.  She  was  one  of  those 
girls  whom  the  aged  always  praise — a  sure 
sign  of  excellence — and  if  some  of  the  young 
ladies  thought  her  rather  too  fortunate  in  at 
taching  a  scholar  and  a  rich  man's  son,  yet  no 
envy  or  illnature  towards  her  was  openly  ex 
pressed.  She  was  twenty-two,  when  William, 
after  receiving  his  diploma,  departed  for  the 
State  of  New-York,  where  he  intended  to  study 
law,  select  a  place  of  residence,  and  then  re 
turn  and  claim  his  bride.  The  time  of  separa 
tion  appeared  long  to  them  both.  William 
openly  murmured,  and  tears  told  all  tluit  Eliza 
beth  could  not  speak. 

*  Let  me  find  you  unchanged  at  my  return,' 
said  William,  pressing  her  hand. 

(  Time  changes  us  all/  replied  Elizabeth. 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  Ill 

c  But  your  heart,  my  love,  let  that  still  be 
mine,  and  I  care  not  for  other  alterations.' 

He  was  then  probably  sincere." 

i  Do  you  think  the  report  of  your  nephew's 
intended  marriage  with  a  lady  in  New-York  j» 
really  true  ?'  said  Miss  Ashton  to  the  Rev.  J. 
Bennett,  the  uncle  of  William  Forbes.  'Has 
he  entirely  forsaken  Elizabeth  ?' 

1 1  fear  so,  indeed,'  replied  the  worthy 
clergyman,  with  a  shake  of  the  head,  and  a 
deep,  long  breath,  between  a  sigh  and  groan. 
'  Elizabeth  is  one  of  the  best  girls  in  the  world, 
but  their  courtship  has  been  too  long.  I  dis 
like  such  long  courtships — I  seldom  knew  one 
end  happily.  There  is  usually  jealousy  and 
quarrelling — and  if  they  do  finally  marry,  it 
often  appears  on  the  part  of  the  man,  more  a 
sense  of  honor  than  affection,  which  leads  him 
to  fulfil  his  engagement.' 

(  Would  there  not  be  equal  danger  of  repen 
tance  and  repining,  were  the  nuptial  knot  actu 
ally  tied  ?'  inquired  Miss  Ashton. 

1  No,  there  would  not — or  certainly  not  with 
persons  of  sense  and  reflection.  They  would 
then  feel  their  interests  the  same,  and  they 
would  feel  that  confidence  in  each  other,  which 
love  only  never  imparted.  Even  the  changes 
that  time  works  on  the  fairest  countenance,  are 
scarcely  perceptible  to  the  husband  who  daily 
sees  his  wife  exerting  herself  to  make  him  and 
his  children  happy.  But  the  lover,  after  an  ab 
sence  of  several  years,  beholds  the  alterations 
in  his  intended  with  deep  regret,  if  not  with 
mortification.  And  the  more  ardent  and  de- 


112  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

voted  he  has  been,  the  more  perceptible  is  the 
change.  His  imagination  has  been  investing 
his  beloved  with  an  increase  of  charms,  while 
time  has  been  stealing  '  a  tooth,  or  auburn  lock,' 
perhaps,  and  the  bridegroom  feels  as  if  de 
frauded  of  the  loveliness  for  which  he  had  bar 
tered  his  heart.' 

4  But  you  forget,  sir,'  said  Miss  Ashton, 
eagerly,  l  that  the  gentlemen  now  allow  us 
some  merit  on  the  score  of  myid,  and  Miss 
Brooks' 

1  Is  wonderfully  improved,  I  grant  ye,'  in 
terrupted  Mr.  Bennett — '  and  she  is  far  more 
deserving  than  when  William  first  engaged  her 
hand  ;  because  she  has  evinced  the  goodness 
of  her  heart  and  temper  by  good  works,  by  use 
fulness — that  sure,  and  indeed  to  us,  only  test 
of  superior  virtue,  and  the  best  criterion  of  su 
perior  abilities.  But  yet,  Miss  Ashton,  we  must 
not  expect,  though  the  opinions  of  men  and  the 
condition  of  women  have  wonderfully,  and  hap 
pily  changed,  during  the  last  half  century,  yet 
we  must  not  expect  that  the  fancy  for  female 
beauty,  which  is  fostered,  if  not  in  a  great  mea 
sure  inspired,  by  our  literature,  (recollect  eve 
ry  heroine,  from  Helen  downwards,  is  painted 
beautiful,)  can  be  sufficiently  efherealized,  as 
my  Sophia  would  say,  to  prefer,  without  at  least 
an  effort  of  reasoning,  the  graces  of  mind  to  the 
graces  of  person.  I  know  from  my  own  feel 
ings,  as  well  as  from  observation,  that  men  are 
extremely  apt  to  pay  homage  to  beauty.  It  is 
true,  young  men  of  sense  and  education  soon 
grow  weary  of  a  fool,  though  ever  so  pretty, 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  113 

but  not  always  till  after  marriage  ; — when  it  is 
too  late.  Such  will  probably  be  the  fate  of 
William  Forbes — but  his  folly  and  injustice  de 
serve  punishment.' 

'  And  so  Miss  Brooks  must  all  her  life  be 
confined  to  the  drudgery  of  school  keeping,' — 
said  Miss  Ashton,  compassionately.  1 1  do 
think  keeping  school  must  be  the  dullest  thing 
on  earth.  To  be  mewed  up,  day  after  day, 

conning  A.  B.  C. O,  how  I  should  detest 

it  !  But  it  may  be  congenial  employment  to 
the  mind  of  an  old  maid.' 

'  I  am  intending  my  daughter  Sophia  to 
commence  the  business  soon,'  observed  Mr. 
Bennett. 

1  What,  that  joyous  girl,  who  is  all  song, 
smiles  and  sportiveness  ?  Why,  to  confine 
her  buoyant  spirit  in  the  prison  of  a  school 
room,  would  be  as  incongruous  as  for  nature 
to  place  nightingales  in  Lapland,  or  call  forth 
butterflies  in  January.  She  never  will  endure 
it.' 

f  She  is  eager  to  attempt  it,'  replied  Mr. 
Bennett, — (  and  anticipates  much  pleasure  in 
the  employment  of  school  keeping.' 

£  Pleasure  in  school  keeping  !' — reiterated 
the  laughing  Miss  Ashton.  i  Whoever  thought 
of  associating  pleasure  with  school  keeping  ! — 
I  know  indeed  ladies  sometimes  engage  in  it, 
but  I  always  supposed  it  was  from  necessity, 
for  the  pecuniary  compensation  merely, — but 
that  cannot  be  your  daughter's  motive.' 

'  Neither  is  it  now  the  motive  of  Elizabeth 
Brooks.  When  she  commenced  instructing, 
10 


114  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

the  necessities  of  her  mother  required  great 
exertion.  But  Mrs.  Brooks  is  no  more.  Slliz- 
abeth  has  rich  relations  in  Connecticut,  who 
would  gladly  support  her,  and  indeed,  who 
urge  her  to  reside  with  them.  She  does  not 
instruct  from  necessity.' 

I  It  is  very  strange  she  should  instruct  from 
choice,'  observed  the  young  lady. 

i  And  why  so  strange  ?'  returned  Mr.  Ben 
nett.  '  Do  you,  my  dear  Miss  Ashton,  never 
connect  pleasure  with  usefulness  ?  I  should 
have  said  duty,  but  the  word  has  been  so  often 
and  so  foolishly,  if  not  irreverently  misapplied 
I  seldom  use  it.  In  my  estimation,  and  I  have 
drawn  my  deductions,  not  from  studies  in  the 
closet,  but  observations  in  the  world,  useful 
ness  and  pleasure  are  much  oftener  allied  than 
idleness  and  pleasure.  By  idleness  I  do  not 
mean  doing  nothing, — but  being  engaged  in 
frivolous  pursuits  only.  There  is  a  compla 
cency  of  mind  that  makes  the  heart  glad  and 
the  spirit  buoyant — a  feeling  of  gratification 
which  is  happy  without  effort,  and  gay  even 
in  solitude,  that  people  who  seek  only  their 
own  amusement  never  enjoy.' 

I 1  am  not  sufficiently  acquainted  with  Miss 
Brooks  to  allow  me  to  judge  of  her  feelings,' 
returned   the   lively   Miss   Ashton — '  but    the 
loss  of  a  lover  is  usually  esteemed  quite  a  seri 
ous  thing  with  us  ladies.     If  she  sustain  her 
disappointment   with    fortitude,    I   shall   think 
school  keeping  of  some  importance,  and  advise 
every  young  lady  to  acquaint  herself  with  the 
business,  so  that  an  affair  of  the  heart  may  not 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  115 

make  her  quite  helpless  and  hopeless.  But 
your  charming  Sophia  has  nothing  to  fear 
from  fickle  lovers.' 

'  She  should  fear  then  for  herself,'  returned 
Mr.  Bennett,  seriously.  f  She  should  fear  to 
indulge  that  supineness  which  is  passive  vice, 
if  I  may  be  allowed  the  term — because  to  be 
actively  useful,  as  far  as  our  ability  permits, 
is  the  law  of  our  being,  the  debt  we  owe  for 
the  enjoyment  of  life,  and  whoever  neglects  to 
fulfil  the  one  and  pay  the  other  is  guilty.  The 
world  may  say  such  people  live  very  fashion 
ably,  and  very  innocently — but  they  do  not 
enjoy  the  approbation  of  conscience,  and  they 
cannot  expect  from  Him  whose  favor  is  feli 
city,  the  commendation  c  well  done  good  and 
faithful  servant  !'  Yet  I  beg  y*>u  will  not  think 
I  have  compelled  my  daughter  to  engage  as 
an  instructress.  I  have  long  since  adopted 
the  opinion  that  to  have  good  works  merito 
rious,  they  must  be  performed  by  a  free  agent. 
I  endeavour  to  point  out  to  my  children  the 
path  of  usefulness— I  advise  them  to  pursue 
it  ;  but  I  allow  them  to  decide  for  themselves. 
Sophia,  however,  for  her  decision  of  character 
and  activity  of  mind,  is  far  more  indebted  to 
the  counsels  and  example  of  Miss  Brooks  than 
to  me.  And  I  am  proud  and  glad  to  acknowl 
edge  this,  because  it  is  paying  a  deserved  tri 
bute  to  merit,  and  moreover  assists  to  establisk. 
my  favorite  theory — namely,  that  the  eleva 
tion  of  female  character  must  be  achieved  by 
female  talent  and  influence.  We  men  may 
frame  systems  of  improvement,  but  it  is  the 


116  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

;    exertions  of  the  ladies  that  must  prepare  the 
mind  to  receive  them.' 

Here  they  were  interrupted  by  the  entrance 
of  Sophia  Bennett,  who  came  tripping  in  to  tell 
her  father  she  had  received  the  promised  com 
munication  from  Miss  Brooks.  '  And  I  was 
never  more  delighted  in  my  life,'  continued  the 
laughing  girl.  l  Do,  my  dear  father,  read  it — 
I  am  sure  there  is  amusement  in  the  descrip 
tion  of  school  keeping,  however  dull  the  busi 
ness  may  be  in  actual  performance.' 

*  Miss  Brooks  was  requested  by  my  daugh 
ter  to  draw  up  some  rules  for  her  direction  dur 
ing  her  first  essay  as  an  instructress,'  said  Mr. 
Bennett,  turning  to  Miss  Asliton.  i  Miss  Brooks 
answered  that  she  would  willingly  oblige  her, 
but  that  precise  rules,  applicable  to  the  exigen 
cies  of  different  schools,  would  be  beyond  her 
ability — but  that  she  would  copy  some  notes, 
taken  during  her  first  six  months'  experience  in 
teaching,  which  might  give  my  daughter  some 
little  idea  of  what  would  be  expected  from  her 
in  her  new  vocation.' 

i  0,  do  pray  allow  me  to  hear  the  notes,'  said 
Miss  Ashton. 

1  With  pleasure/  returned  Mr.  Bennett. 
'  Here  Sophia,  you  must  read,  I  will  explain, 
and  Miss  Ashton  may  criticise  ;  so  there  will 
be  business  for  us  all.' 

1 1  would  ask  to  be  excused  from  my  task,' 
said  Miss  Ashton,  (  only  as  I  find  you  place  so 
high  an  estimate  on  industry,  you  will  I  suppose 
easier  pardon  severity  of  remark  than  idle 
ness.' 


VILLAGE   SCHOOLMISTRESS.  117 

c  But  you  must  recollect  the  writer  is  a  female,' 
replied  the  good  man — '  and  from  the  lips  of  her 
own  sex,  should  receive  courtesy  if  not  indul 
gence.  There  is  one  consequence  which  I 
sometimes  fear  may  follow  the  cultivation  of 
literature,  especially  of  authorship  among  wo 
men,  which  would  tend  greatly  to  injure  their 
usefulness  and  happiness.  It  would  be  very 
unfortunate,  should  those  whose  thoughts  and 
words  ought  to  be  kind,  conciliating  and 
charitable,  be,  by  their  attainments  incited  to 
a  spirit  of  jealousy,  envy  and  rivalry  towards 
each  other.  Indeed  that  lady  of  intelligence 
who  does  not  encourage  female  talent,  must  be 
blind  to  her  own  interest.  It  is  not  in  possess 
ing  a  genius  superior  to  her  sex,  that  makes  the 
true,  the  best  glory  of  a  woman,  it  is  in  using 
her  influence  to  elevate  the  female  character. 
We  men  do  not  want  paragons  or  prodigies  for 
wives — but  rational,  refined,  intelligent  part 
ners — the  former  may  engage  our  wonder,  the 
latter  only  will  attract  our  love.  And  now,  my 
daughter,  as  I  have  prosed  to  the  extent  good 
breeding  will  allow,  although  I  have  not  half 
exhausted  the  subject,  we  will  listen  to  the  let 
ter  of  Miss  Brooks.' 

Sophia's  smile  thanked  her  kind  parent  for 
the  interest  he  took  in  her  plans  and  pleasures, 
and  she  began. 

'  On  examining  my  notes,  my  dear  Miss  Ben 
nett,  I  found  they  would  be  unintelligible  to 
you  without  some  explanations  ;  so  by  their  aid 
I  have  taxed  my  memory  to  give  you  a  regular 
history  of  my  feelings,  and  the  progress  of  my 


118  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

mind  during  six  of  the  most  important  months! 
I  ever  passed.  I  may  well  call  them  so,  as 
their  effect  has  ever  since  operated  on  my 
character  and  happiness ;  and  probably  will, 
during  life.  It  was  on  the  first  Monday  in  May, 
18 — ,  that  I  commenced  my  school,  in  a  small 

district  in  the  town  of .     I  engaged  in 

it  from  necessity,  and  reluctantly  enough  to 
make  me  quite  nervous.  I  used  to  be  ner 
vous  in  those  days,  or  at  least  indulge  my  sen 
sibility,  (the  refined  title  for  selfishness,}  till  it 
made  me  very  unreasonable,  and  very  wretch 
ed  ;  for  I  hid  been  indulged  till  the  gratification 
of  my  own  wishes  and  whims,  appeared  to  me 
the  most  important  thing  on  earth.  But  wealth 
had  fled,  my  dear  father  was  no  more,  my  mo 
ther  was  unable  to  provide  for  her  own  wants, 
and  thus  I  was  thrown  upon  my  own  resources. 
I  had  never  been  acquainted  with  myself, 
and  notwithstanding  I  had  a  proud  idea  of  my 
own  learning  and  accomplishments,  yet  no 
sooner  did  I  undertake  to  exercise,  specifically, 
my  talents,  than  I  shrunk  from  the  task,  and  felt 
dismay  and  discouragement.  Those  who  have 
been  taught  to  estimate  their  acquirements 
chiefly  by  the  credit  they  acquire  on  days  of 
examination  at  school,  and  afternoons  of  dis 
play  before  partial  friends  at  home,  have  little 
idea  of  any  practically  useful  purpose  to  which 
those  accomplishments  may  be  applied.  But 
for  me,  there  was  no  discharge.  I  must  either 
use  exertion,  or  live  in  dependence  on  my 
mother's  relatives.  I  was  influenced  in  my 
choice  by  reasons  that  doubtless  to  a  philos- 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  119 

opher,  would  appear  of  very  trifling  import, 
if  not  excessively  silly  ;  yet  they  decided  my 
destiny.  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  frankly,  nor 
do  I  now,  in  my  days  of  reflection,  and  com 
parative  wisdom,  feel  disposed  to  tax  myself 
with  egregious  folly,  because  that  in  youth  I. 
was  guided  by  the  impulses  of  my  heart.  The 
passions,  when  virtuous  in  their  objects  of  pur 
suit,  are  as  sure  a  guide  to  excellence  and 
happiness,  as  cool  reason — indeed  surer,  and 
far  more  efficient  ;  because  of  the  enthusiasm 
they  kindle,  and  the  generosity  they  inspire. 
It  is  a  mistake  to  think  that  passion,  or  feeling, 
is  of  itself  censurablo.  When  the  soul  is 
most  innocent,  that  is  in  youth,  the  passions 
are  most  ardent.  Why  then,  you  will  proba 
bly  inquire,  is  the  suppression  of  passion  al 
ways  so  earnestly  urged  on  the  young  ?  I 
think,  my  dear  Sophia,  there  is  a  mistake  in 
the  terms  used  by  those  writers  who  most  earn 
estly  inculcate  the  necessity  of  self  control. 
It  is  not  the  suppression  of  our  feelings,  but 
their  right  direction  that  is  needed  to  make  us 
perfect.  The  great  Moralist,  who  '  spake  as 
never  man  spake,'  did  not  censure  passion,  or 
its  expression — he  only  sought  to  direct  it  to 
worthy  objects,  and  incite  it  to  great  sacrifices. 
He  purified  and  exalted  but  he  encouraged — • 
love.  We  are  not  only  to  love  our  neighbour  v 
as  ourselves,  but  we  must  love  our  enemies — a 
refinement,  and  generosity,  and  warmth  of  sen 
timent  which  can  only  be  compatible  with  a 
pure  mind  and  ardent  heart.  These  remarks 
are  not  intended  to  palliate  any  weakness  of 


120  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

my  own — because  I  do  not  think  the  affection 
I  then  cherished  for  W.,  was  a  weakness.  Yet 
what  was,  at  that  time,  the  innccency  of 
passion,  would,  if  now  indulged,  be  weak 
or  criminal.  But  my  reasons — well — New 
Hampshire  was  the  residence  of  the  friends  of 
William — I  should  there,  oftener  than  in  Con 
necticut,  hear  of  him  and  from  him  ;  and  then 
William  had  once  said  he  thought  the  office  of 
instructress,  an  excellent  one  for  young  la 
dies  ;  it  imparted  a  knowledge  of  the  human 
heart,  he  observed,  which,  in  no  other  way 
could  they  so  well  or  so  safely  gain  ;  and  it 
also  gave  dignity  to  the  manners,  and  a  deci 
sion  to  the  mind  that  were  calculated  to  make 
a  woman  more  respected  and  more  useful. 
Another,  and  perhaps  the  most  efficient  reason 
was  this — I  had  a  cousin  where  I  was  invited 
to  reside  who  had  expressed  more  partiality 
for  me  than  his  relationship  would  seem  to  dic 
tate — I  feared  a  residence  in  his  father's  fam 
ily  would  give  uneasiness  to  William  Forbes. 
I  might,  I  see,  have  spared  this  detail  of  cir 
cumstances,  and  said  at  once,  that  partiality 
for  the  man  I  then  expected  to  marry,  was  the 
true  reason  which  induced  me  to  make  those 
exertions  which  have  been  crowned  with  suc 
cess,  and  I  hope  not  deficient  in  that  useful 
ness  which  merits  success.  I  have  not  men 
tioned  my  mother,  because  she  would,  with 
apparent  cheerfulness,  have  yielded  to  the 
solicitations  of  her  friends  and  lived  in  depen 
dence  on  them  ;  yet  1  know  she  was  after 
wards  fur  happier,  in  reflecting  she  owed  her 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  121 

support  and  comforts  to  my  filial  love  and  suc 
cessful  industry. 

My  schoolhouse  had  been  recently  built, 
and  was  scarcely  finished,  and  moreover  was 
situated  in  a  place  which  any  young  lady,  ro 
mantic  or  rational,  might  be  pardoned  for  cal 
ling  horrid.  In  selecting  this  site,  taste,  if 
such  a  principle  was  cultivated  among  the  vil 
lagers,  had  never  been  consulted.  The  only 
requisite  was,  to  fix  precisely  on  the  centre  of 
the  district  ;  and  after  measuring  in  every  di 
rection,  the  centre  had  been  discovered  exact 
ly  in  the  centre  of  a  frog-pond.  As  near  that 
pond  as  safety  would  permit,  stood  the  school- 
house,  encircled  with  dw^rf  pines  and  spruce 
bushes  ;  and  the  prospect  on  every  side,  bound 
ed  by  woods  or  mountains,  or  ledges  of  rock. 
Not  a  human  habitation  was  in  sight,  and  yet, 
when  I  entered  the  school  room,  I  found  near 
ly  fifty  children  collected.  Where  the  little 
urchins  could  possibly  live,  or  how  they  all 
found  their  way  to  that  wild  looking  place,  was 
then  to  me  matter  of  astonishment.  I  have 
since  learned,  how  highly  the  privileges  of  a  / 
free  school  are  prized  ;  and  what  exertions  are  '/ 
made  by  parents,  to  insure  their  little  ones  the 
advantages  of  education.  The  first  thing,  of 
course,  was,  to  be  introduced  to  my  pupils,  or 
in  other  words,  to  learn  their  names.  And 
here  commenced  a  ludicrous  difficulty.  The 
names  of  these  little  rustics  were  so  high 
sounding  and  romantic,  and  generally  so  inap 
propriate  to  the  appearance  of  the  children, 
and  their  repetition  awakened  such  associa- 
11 


122  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

tions,  and  indeed  such  ludicrous  comparisons 
in  my  own  mind,  that  it  was  several  days  be 
fore  I  could  hear,  or  speak  them  without 
laughing.  I  had  all  the  presidents  and  great 
men  of  America,  to  say  nothing  of  foreign 
heroes,  hefore  me,  represented,  in  name 
at  least,  by  sunburnt,  barefooted,  curly-pated 
boys  ;  and  all  the  heroines  of  romance  and 
song,  in  chubby  cheeked,  freckled,  romping 
girls — and  a  happy  circumstance  did  I  esteem 
it,  if  only  one  four-syllable  name  was  attached 
to  one  individual.'  Ever  since  that  time,  I 
have  been  an  admirer  of  short,  and  as  they 
are  usually  called,  simple,  oldfashioned  names. 
But  I  was,  on  the  whole,  pleased  with  my 
school.  There  was  something  very  gratifying 
in  the  sincere  and  affectionate  homage  these 
happy  and  innocent  little  creatures  rendered 
to  me.  They  had  been  taught  to  respect  their 
teacher,  and  think  learning  one  of  the  finest 
things  they  could  possess  ;  and  I  found  them 
tractable,  and  ambitious  to  excel.  But  the 
unrestrained  freedom  of  play  when  out  of 
school,  and  the  variety  and  cheerfulness  of 
nature  abroad,  make  confinement  to  the  school 
room,  especially  in  the  country,  a  far  more 
irksome  restraint  during  summer,  than  any 
other  season  of  the  year.  I  studied  so  to  en 
gross  and  interest  their  minds,  that  they  might 
have  no  leisure  for  repining  at  the  restrictions 
I  was  compelled  to  impose,  and  1  introduced 
in  consequence,  some  new  arrangements  ;  but 
I  found  these  innovations  where  watched  with 
a  jealous  eye  by  the  parents,  let  no  mur- 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  123 

murs  of  discontent  reached  me,  excepting  from 
two  families — one  sent  no  scholar,  and  the 
other  none  excepting  an  idiot.  I  have  usually 
found  those  who  have  least  interest  in  a  school 
the  least  likely  to  be  satisfied  with  its  manage 
ment.  I  boarded  round,  as  they  termed  it,  that 
is,  I  boarded  with  every  ihmily  in  proportion  to 
the  number  of  scholars  they  sent — and  it  was 
amusing  to  see  the  pride  of  the  parents  and  the 
manner  in  which  they  managed  to  elicit  from 
me  praises  of  their  children.  1  believe  I  satis 
fied  them,  certainly  I  was  myself  satisfied  ;  for 
nothing  they  could  do  to  make  me  comfortable 
and  happy,  was  omitted.  The  best  room,  the 
best  bed,  the  best  place  at  table,  the  best  fare 
the  house  afforded  were  considered  the  right 
of  the  instructress  of  their  children — and  the 
gratitude  this  treatment  excited  in  my  heart, 
poor  and  dependent  as  I  'felt  myself,  raised  -in 
me  an  ambition  to  deserve  it,  that  doubtless 
contributed  much  to  make  me  industrious,  and 
to  give  me  those  habits  of  faithfulness  in  my 
employment,  wrhich  have  been  rewarded  by  suc 
cess  and  happiness.  Yes,  happiness,  my  dear 
Sophia  ; — never  allow  your  mind  to  cherish 
that  idea  that  happiness  is  necessarily  depen 
dent  on  a  particular  event,  or  confined  to  any 
particular  station.  It  is  true  I  did  not  then 
expect,  and  probably  should  have  been  very 
wretched  to  have  expected,  school  keeping 
would  be  my  future  business.  I  was  young, 
I  had  a  lover — I  read  romances — could  I  be 
otherwise  than  a  little  romantic  ?  I  was  very 
much  so,  and  I  confess,  there  where  hours, 


124  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

nay  days,  when  I  felt  discontented  with  my 
employment  and  situation.  I  looked  on  the 
woods  and  rocks,  and  above  all  on  the  frog- 
pond  with  disgust  ;  and  anticipated  the  time 
when  I  should  be  at  liberty  to  be  happy.  It 
seemed  so  unsentimental  for  me  to  be  wasting 
my  spirits  and  wearying  myself  to  death,  just 
to  please  a  set  of  .people  whom,  but  for  a  pe 
cuniary  reward,  I  should  never  have  known 
had  existed.  But  these  feelings  seldom  lasted 
long.  My-  own  heart  told  me  1  was  acting 
rightly.  ,  The  still  small  voice,  whose  whisper 
of  approbation  brings  more  '  true  joy '  tp  the 
bosom  than  the  greetings  of  the  million^  con 
firmed  me,  encouraged  me  to  persevere.  And 
I  was  rewarded  by  the  confidence  and  affec 
tion  of  both  parents  and  children.  What  a 
pleasure  is  derived  from  knowing  one's  self 
beloved  !  When  I  saw  those  little  girls  and 
boys  regarding  me  as  their  oracle,  almost  their 
tutelary  angel,  you  can  scarcely  imagine  how 
they  interested  me.  Their  chubby,  sunburnt, 
freckled  faces,  looked  positively  beautiful  ;  and 
I  dearly  loved  the  roguish,  romping,  but  good 
natured  and  happy  creatures.  I  enjoyed  ex 
quisite  gratification  in  communicating  knowl 
edge  to  their  artless  minds,  and  watching  their 
progress.  The  process  greatly  improved  my 
own  understanding.  While  repeating  and  ex 
plaining  to  them,  I  learned  myself  to  reflect 
and  reason  ;  and  while  advising  and  urging  on 
them  the  necessity  of  improvement,  I  became 
more  susceptible  of  the  value  of  time,  and 
more  anxious  to  improve.  We  parted  with 


VILLAGE  SCHOOLMISTRESS.  125 

mutual  regret — even  tears — and  though  my 
lot  has  ever  since  been  to  dwell  in  plcasantcr 
places,  and  among  more  polished  people,  yet 
I  never  think  of  those  children,  I  never  meet 
them  without  gladness,  they  never  see  me 
without  testifying  joy.  Would  these  mutual 
feelings  always  arise  had  we  not  enjoyed  hap 
piness,  such  as  the  consciousness  of  acting 
rightly  and  deserving  it  only  imparts,  while 
together  ?' 

'  What  do  you  think  of  the  life  of  a  school 
mistress  ?'  said  Mr.  Bennett. 

i  I  am  anxious  to  commence  it,'  said  Sophia. 

'  I  think  it  exquisite  in  description,'  said  Miss 
Ashton,  4  especially  for  those  ladies  who  have 
talents  that  they  wish  to  employ  and  improve. 
But  this  you  know  sir,  must  not  be  expected 
from  every  young  lady.  Some  there  are  of 
my  acquaintance,  who  possess  genius  and  im 
agination,  play  and  sing  divinely,  dance  charm 
ingly  and  dress  elegantly,  but  the  reasoning  of 
Socrates  would  never  convince  them  they  could 
live  contentedly,  indeed  live  at  all,  in  the  vicin 
ity  of  a  frog-pond  !' 

<Ay,  there's  the  rub,'  said  Mr.  Bennett.  'Ac 
cidental  circumstances  connected  with  an  em 
ployment,  give  us  an  aversion  to  it,  before  we 
have  by  experience  ascertained  how  easy  it  is 
to  surmount  such  difficulties,  and  how  trifling 
they  appear  when  once  the  mind  is  intent  on, 
what  it  considers  important.  It  is  this  which 
makes  it  so  necessary  to  obtain  the  sanction  of 
fashion  for  whatever  we  wish  to  make  popular, 
because  then  the  attainment  only  is  regarded — 


126  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

not  the  labor  or  privations  by  which  it  is  won. 
Do  you  not  think,  Miss  Ashton,  those  young 
ladies  you  mention,  while  acquiring  their 
knowledge  of  music,  submitted  to  restraints  as 
irksome  as  school  keeping  would  impose  ?' 

(  Undoubtedly — but  that  was  to  acquire  an 
indispensable  accomplishment.' 

'  Yes,  according  to  the  standard  of  fashion — 
but  I  anticipate  the  time,  when  our  ladies  will 
not  be  prized  solely  for  possessing  accomplish 
ments,  but  for  improving  them — when  the 
waste  and  wild  places  of  our  country,  will  all 
be  cultivated  and  beautified,  by  the  industry 
and  taste  of  the  men,  and  the  minds  of  our  peo 
ple  refined,  and  intelligent,  and  liberal,  by  the 
united  exertions  of  the  pure,  and  pious,  and 
enlightened  of  both  sexes.  In  short,  when.it 
will  become  fashionable  for  young  ladies  to  be 
usefully,  rather  than  romantically  active  ;  and 
then  the  sight  of  a  frog-pond  would  no  more 
deter  them  from  engaging  in  a  school,  than 
would  the  joltings,  privations,  and  fatigue  they 
must  endure,  prevent  them  now  from  taking  a 
trip  to  the  White  Hills,  or  a  tour  to  Niagara.' 

Ten  years  after  Mr.  Bennett  had  thus  phi 
losophized  to  these  gay  girls,  they  again  met  at 
his  house.  They  were  both  happily  married, 
both  had  children  ;  and  Elizabeth  Brooks,  still 
following  the  vocation  she  had  chosen,  was  the 
instructress  they  both  preferred.  She  was  al 
most  adored  by  her  pupils,  and  respected  and 
beloved  like  a  relative  by  their  parents  ;  and 
the  placidity  of  her  countenance,  and  cheerful 
ness,  even 'vivacity  of  her  manners,  was  a  proof 


VILLAGE   SCHOOLMISTRESS.  127 

that  her  mind  was  contented,  and  her  life  pleas 
ant  as  well  as  useful.  She  also  was  on  a  visit 
to  the  clergyman. 

f  I  have  lately  received  a  letter  from  my 
nephew,  William  Forbes,'  remarked  Mr.  Ben 
nett.  '  He  is,  I  find,  a  widower.' 

The  married  ladies  glanced  at  Elizabeth, 
but  her  countenance  was  unchanged. 

'  He  says  he  shall  be  here  in  the  course  of  a 
few  months,  if  he  can  learn  whether  a  certain 
lady  who  first  engaged  his  affections  is  at  liber 
ty,  and  would  receive  him  favorably,'  continu 
ed  the  clergyman. 

The  married  ladies  both  smiled,  and  a  slight 
color  was  perceptible  on  the  mild,  chastened 
features  of  Elizabeth. 

'  He  says,'  continued  the  clergyman,  £  he 
has  fortune,  fame,  friends,  all  that  is  necessary 
to  make  him  happy,  except  the  consciousness 
of  rectitude,  which,  since  violating  his  engage 
ment  with  Elizabeth,  he  has  never  enjoyed, — 
and  a  partner  to  share  his  confidence  and  pros 
perity.  He  acknowledges  his  fault,  but  thinks 
he  has  already  been  sufficiently  punished. 
The  lady  he  married  was  beautiful,  and  he  was 
dazzled  by  her  charms,  till  he  forgot,  or  rather 
relinquished  his  first  love  ;  but  his  wife  never 
made  him  happy.  He  does  not  accuse  her  of 
imperfections,  only  remarks  that  they  were  un 
equally  matched  ;  that  there  never  was,  that 
there  could  not  be,  between  them  that  com 
munion  of  mind,  to  which  he  had  always  been 
accustomed  in  his  intercourse  with  Miss 
Brooks.  He  was  not  himself  aware,  how 


128  AME1UCAN  SKETCHES. 

much  of  his  happiness  depended  on  this  com 
munion,  till  he  had  forfeited  it.  lie  entreats 
me  to  intercede  for  him.' 

4  What  answer  did  Elizabeth  give  ?' 
The  suhject  was  under  discussion  all  the  af 
ternoon.  The  married  ladies  advised  her  to 
accept  the  offer  of  her  penitent  lover — they 
probably  expected  an  invitation  to  the  wedding. 
The  good  clergyman  told  her  to  consult  her 
own  heart,  and  those  excellent  principles  that 
had  so  nobly  and  effectually  supported  her 
under  every  vicissitude.  But  he  hinted  how 
much  pleasure  it  would  give  him  to  see  her 
married  to  a  worthy  man  ;  indeed,  he  said  he 
should  like  to  pronounce  the  nuptial  benedic 
tion  himself. 

*  What  answer  did  Elizabeth  give  ?' 
I  intend,  hereafter,  to  sketch  the  character 
of  William  Forbes,  and  then  the  propriety  of 
the  answer  which  Elizabeth  did  give,  will  be 
apparent.  Till  then,  every  lady  and  gentle 
man,  who  does  me  the  honor  to  read  these 
i  Sketches,'  is  at  liberty  to  form  and  express 
their  own  opinion  on  the  subject. 


THE 
BELLE   AND   THE   BLEU. 


The  world  is  too  much  with  us. 

WORDSWORTH. 

Mark  yonder  pomp  of  costly  fashion, 

Round  the  wealthy  bride; 
But  when  compared  with  real  passion 
Poor  is  all  that  pride — 

What  are  their  showy  treasures  ? 

What  are  their  noisy  pleasures  ? 
The  gay  gaudy  glare  of  vanity  and  art. — 

The  polished  jewel's  blaze 

May  draw  the  wond'ring  gaze, 
But  never,  never  can  come  near  the  worthy  heart. 
BURNS. 


J.  W.  THOMPSON,  Esq.  was  a  very  rich  man, 
and  a  very  melancholy  man — one  of  those 
characters,  who,  seemingly  blessed  with  all  that 
earth  can  give,  are  yet  always  repining  and  find 
ing  fault  with  the  wind,  the  weather,  the  season; 
or  else  complaining  of  ill  luck,  or  ill  health — 
and  always  feeling  an  ill  temper — but  the  world 
felt  no  sympathy  for'  his  sorrows.  He  had 
passed  through  life  calculating  how  he  might 
turn  every  incident  that  befell  him  to  some 
pecuniary  profit,  and  his  acquaintances  were 
now,  in  their  turn,  calculating  how  much  he  had 
gained,  and  how  soon  he  would  leave  his  wealth 
to  his  two  daughters.  Had  he  been  a  poor 
man  and  worked  at  day-labor  to  support  his 


ISO  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

children,  how  much  more  his  death  would  have 
been  lamented  !  For  he  died — the  rich  die  as 
certainly,  though  not  always  as  peacefully  as 
the  indigent.  His  neighbours  would  have  said, 
i  what  will  become  of  the  poor  girls  now  their 
kind  father  is  gone,  who  worked  so  hard  ever 
since  his  wife  died,  to  provide  for  his  darlings ! 
He  is  dead,  and  well  may  they  weep — they 
will  never  find  such  another  tender  friend.' 
But  when  the  rich  J.  W.  Thompson,  Esq. 
died,  they  said  no  such  thing. 

'  I  do  not  think,  Simon,  the  death  of  Squire 
Thompson  any  great  loss  to  the  world,'  said 
Mr.  Jacob  Towner,  to  his  hired  man,  as  he 
paused  from  his  labor  of  mowing,  and  rested 
his  scythe  on  the  ground,  while  the  funeral 
procession  passed.  '  But  yet  I  fear  the  world 
is  a  great  loss  to  him.  When  a  man's  heart' 
is  wholly  set  upon  the  mammon  of  unrighteous 
ness,  he  must  feel  very  poor  wheirforced  away 
from  his  idol.  But  still,  Simon,  we  will  not 
judge  him,'  continued  he,  raising  his  hand  and 
waving  it  with  an  oratorical  motion  as  nearly 
in  imitation  of  his  good  clergyman  as  he  possi 
bly  could  ;  (  we  must  not  ju^ge  him,  Simon. 
Nevertheless  1  was  thinking  how  foolish  it  is 
for  us  to  be  so  anxious  for  riches,  when  God 
just  as  willingly  receives  a  beggar  as  a  prince, 
and  never  shows  any  favor  to  a  man  because 
he  has  left  a  great  estate  behind  him.  Ah  ! 
Simon,  what  are  all  the  things  of  this  world  but 
vanity  ?  Hark  !  is  not  that  the  sound  of  thun 
der  ?  We  must  make  haste,  or  we  shall  cer 
tainly  have  our  hay  wet  again,  and  then  it  will 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  BLEU.        331 

be  entirely  spoiled.  Go,  run,  and  yoke  up  the 
team  as  quick  as  possible,  I  will  rake  the  hay. 
How  sorry  I  shall  feel  to  have  so  much  lost.' 

'  Do  you  think  the  young  ladies  will  have  fif 
ty  thousand  dollars  apiece  ?'  inquired  Mrs. 
Patten  of  an  elderly  gentleman,  who  was  re 
ported  to  be  a  particular  friend  of  the  deceased 
Squire  Thompson,  and  intimately  acquainted 
with  his  affairs. 

'  Indeed,  madam,'  replied  he,  with  a  half 
smile  that  seemed  checked  by  the  necessity  he 
felt  of  drawing  a  deep  sigh  while  the  coffin  was 
lowered  into  the  ground — '  indeed,  Madam,  I 
can  hardly  say — or  I  -  ought  not  to  say ;  there 
are  fortune  hunters  in  our  country  as  well  as  in 
other  countries  ;  and  it  is  rather  dangerous  for 
young  ladies  to  be  reported  rich.  But  this  I 
can  say,  that  the  young  ladies  will  have  enough. 
Squire  Thompson,  though  a  very  fretful  man, 
was  careful  ih  business,  and  his  affairs  are  all 
arranged.  How  much  better  it  would  be  if 
men,  when  they  know  they  must  die,  would  all 
take  care  to  have  their  papers  put  in  order  !' 

'  Then  he  did  not  expect  to  live,'  observed 
Mrs.  Patten  ;  '  Pray  was  lie  reconciled  to 
death  ?' 

'  1  can't  say,  Madam,  as  I  never  heard  him 
speak  particularly  on  the  subject.  But  then  he 
WHS  quite  passed  the  enjoyments  of  this  life, 
had  no  appetite  nor  relish  for  anything  ;  and  in 
deed  lie  appeared  so  miserable  that  1  could  not 
say  I  was  sorry  to  see  him  die.' 

1  Did  you  observe  the  crape  on  the  Miss 
Thompsons'  dresses  ?'  inquired  MissHorton  of 


2  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

her  companion,  as  they  walked  home  from  the 
funeral.  '  How  deep  it  was,  and  what  rich  look 
ing  bonnets  they  wore!  I  think  black  is  a  very 
becoming  dress  when  the  materials  are  rich  ; 
but  poor,  gray,  dirty  looking  crape,  is  abomi 
nable.' 

'  They  have  a  large  fortune  left  them,  and 
can  dress  just  as  rich  as  they  please,'  observ 
ed  the  other. 

'  And  will  probably  marry  just  whom  they 
choose,'  returned  Miss  Horton.  '  I  have  heard 
already  of  three  young  gentlemen  who  are  re 
solving  to  address  them.' 

'  I  wish  they  knew  it,'  said  the  other  ; ( I  wish 
they  knew  how  much  speculation  there  is  about 
their  wealth.  I  fear  they  will  be  deceived.' 

'  They  cannot  imagine  all  the  attention  paid 
them  is  for  their  beauty,'  answered  Miss  Hor 
ton.  '  Lucretia  Thompson  is  absolutely  ugly, 
and  Eliza,  though  a  little  more  passable,  is  a 
palefaced,  baby-looking  thing.' 

1  But  then,  Miss  Horton,  only  think  of  hav 
ing  fifty  thousand  dollars  at  command  !  What 
need  of  personal  charms,  or  mental  accomplish 
ments,  with  fifty  thousand  dollars  ?' 

1  And  this  is  life' — Squire  Thompson  was, 
with  reason,  disliked  by  his  neighbours  ;  he 
was  known  to  be  unhappy — he  was  unlament- 
ed  at  his  death  ;  and  yet,  because  he  left  a 
large  estate,  hundreds  of  people  flocked  to  his 
funeral,  his  two  daughters  were  surrounded 
by  friends  offering  every  service>  and,  even  in 
their  mourning  dresses,  they  were  the  objects 
of  envy  to  their  own  sex,  and  of  matrimonial 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  BLEU.        133 

speculation  among  the  young  gentlemen. 
*  And  this  is  life.'  Strange  that  gold  should 
have  such  sway  over  the  minds  of  men,  when 
they  must  see  that  its  possession  does  not  con 
fer  happiness  here — much  less  prepare  us  for 
that  change  which  so  soon  and  certainly  ar 
rives  to  the  rich  as  well  as  the  poor. 

The  daughters  of  the  deceased,  though  dif 
fering  in  disposition,  were  not,  either  of  them, 
by  nature  endowed  with  anything  more  than 
that  common  kind  of  capacity  which  titted  them 
for  an  ordinary  station  ;  but  nevertheless,  as 
heiresses,  they  were  destined  to  figure  in  the 
beau-monde,  and  the  ingenuity  of  their  depen 
dents  and  flatterers  was  soon  taxed  to  discover 
in  their  minds  the  seeds  of  genius  or  fancy,  tal 
ents  or  taste  being  essentially  requisite  for 
those  ladies  who  cannot  lay  claim  to  beauty. 

Lucretia  Thompson  (I  name  her  first,  not 
withstanding  she  was  the  younger  born,  be 
cause  she  assumed  those  superior  airs  which 
she  considered  necessary  to  exhibit  superior 
talents,  and  always  would  take  precedence  of 
her  sister,)  was  a  tall,  dark-complexioned,  bold- 
looking  girl,  with  large  features,  and  she  would 
have  had  quite  a  sour  expression  of  counte 
nance,  had  not  the  consciousness  that  she  had 
very  handsome  teeth  caused  her  to  wear  an 
almost  constant  simper,  which  did  not  appear 
in  perfect  keeping  with  her  quick  eye  and  the 
frown  that  frequently  passed  over  her  brow 
when  anything  occurred  that  crossed  her  hu 
mor. 

Eliza,  though  possessing  a  far  better  com- 


134  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

plexion  than  her  sister,  could  hardly  be  term 
ed  handsomer,  for  her  hair  was  a  dull  yellow, 
and  so  coarse,  stiff  and  wiry,  that  all  attempts 
to  reduce  the  refractory  locks  to  an  imitation  of 
those  sweet  curls  that  always  shade  so  grace 
fully  the  fair  brow  of  a  heroine  of  romance, 
proved  of  little  use  in  the  toilet  of  the  heiress 
of  fifty  thousand  dollars.  Then  Eliza  had  a 
low,  narrow  forehead,  turned  up  nose,  and  a 
very  short  face,  giving  her  countenance  an  air 
of  conceit  and  iimntcllectualness  (the  word,  if 
not  in  the  Dictionary,  ought  to  be)  that  redeem 
ed  her  from  all  suspicion  of  being  born  a  bleu. 
Yet  nature  usually  bestows  on  every  form  some 
grace,  and  to  Eliza  she  had  given  a  very  lovely 
neck — white  as  a  lily,  and  with  that  graceful 
curve  that  poets  denominate  *  swanlike.7  If 
the  fine  teeth  of  Lucretia  induced  her  to  talk 
and  laugh  unceasingly — the  beautiful  bosom  of 
Eliza  led  her  to  study  dress  and  attitude  ;  and 
thus  one  was  soon  termed  o.  sentimental  the  other 
a  literary  lady. 

In  one  short  year  after  the  death  of  Squire 
Thompson,  he  seemed  forgotten,  or  only  re 
membered  as  a  man  who  had  toiled  to  lay  up  a 
hoard  of  wealth  which  would  be  a  fine  acquisi 
tion  to  the  young  gentlemen  who  could  obtain 
the  orphan  heiresses.  These  ladies  drew 
around  them  a  crowd  of  company,  because  they 
really  gave  elegant  entertainments  ;  and  as 
the  gentlemen  who  frequented  the  house  paid 
them  great  attention,  they  were  reported  to 
have  many  admirers.  Eliza  Thompson's  ele 
gant  dresses  and  romantic  air  were  univer- 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  BLEU.        135 

sally  admired,  while  Lucretia's  sublimely  silly 
speeches  were  certainly  listened  to  with  appar 
ent  interest,  by  educated  and  intelligent  men  ; 
and  when  she  attempted  to  be  witty,  she  always 
excited  a  burst  of  laughter,  merely  by  laughing 
herself.  Ought  it  to  excite  wonder,  that  these 
young  ladies  fancied  they  possessed  every  re 
quisite  accomplishment  for  females,  when  they 
saw  the  gentlemen  thus  obsequious  to  attend 
their  smiles,  while  the  ladtes  copied  all  their 
fashions  and  strove  to  imitate  their  manners  ? 
Such  are  the  dangers  to  which  the  unprotect 
ed  rich  arc  exposed  ; — such  the  omnipotence 
of  gold. 

The  apartments  in  the  dwelling  of  the  Miss 
Thompsons  were  all  lighted  up,  and  arrange 
ments  had  apparently  been  made  for  a  large 
party.  The  two  sisters,  splendidly  arrayed, 
were  seated  on  a  sofa  at  the  upper  end  of  their 
drawing  room,  engaged  in  a  low  but  animated 
conversation  ;  and  a  person  stationed  at  such  a 
distance  as  to  preclude  hearing  their  words, 
would  doubtless  have  thought  them  discussing 
the  manner  in  which  they  intended  to  receive 
their  guests,  or  dwelling  on  the  pleasure  an 
ticipated  from  the  expected  company.  But 
ladies,  even  when  arrayed  in  silks  and  decked 
with  pearls,  are  not  always  happy  ;  nor  when 
about  to  receive  with  smiles  a  smiling  throng, 
do  they  always  expect  gratification. 

i  I  am  sure,  Lucretia,  he  pays  more  atten 
tion  to  Helen  than  her  relationship  to  us  would 
naturally  induce,'  said  Miss  Eliza  Thompson, 
unclasping  her  bracelet  in  affected  agitation. 


136  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

'Now  pray,  sister,  show  less  sensibility,' 
replied  Lucretia.  '  I  have  told  you  it  was  only 
in  consequence  of  the  conversation  I  held  with 
Mr.  Howard  respecting  the  Iliad — the  name 
of  Helen  in  that  charming  poem  naturally  in 
troduced  our  cousin's  name,  and  he  made  in 
quiries  respecting  her  which  I  could  not  very 
well  evade,  and  so  I  told  him  the  circumstances 
of  her  parents5  death,  and  that  she  was  now 
wholly  dependent  on  us — and  I  assure  you  he 
complimented  us  very  highly  for  our  gene 
rosity  in  affording  her  protection.  From  what 
I  said  I  presume  he  thought  he  could  not  more 
effectually  recommend  himself  to  tis  than,  by 
noticing  the  poor  girl.7 

'  I  wonder,  Lucretia,  you  mentioned  the 
manner  of  uncle  Bond's  death  to  Mr.  Howard,' 
said  Eliza,  attempting  to  sigh.  '  You  know 
his  tenderness  of  heart,  and  how  such  histories 
affect  him,  almost  as  much  as  they  do  mew-  JL 
declare,  I  never  think  of  uncle  Bond  without 
shuddering,  and  I  have  been  half  inclined  to 
send  Helen  away,  because  her  presence  so 
frequently  brings  her  father  to  my  mind.' 

1  Is  that  all  the  reason  you  wish  her  ab 
sence  ?' 

1  0,  no — I  think  she  engrosses  the  pity,  and 
so  gains  the  notice  of  all  our  acquaintance. 
And  she  looks  sorrowful  all  the  time — just  as 
if  she  was  n't  happy  here,  and  didn't  feel  at  all 
obliged  to  us  ;  and  then  I  see  several  of  the 
young  ladies  copy  her  style  of  dressing  her 
hair,  as  if  they  thought  it  more  becoming  than 
mine.' 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  BLEU.        137 

cYou  should  feel  above  such  things,'  said 
Miss  Lucretia,  tossing  her  head  with  a  scorn 
ful  air.  f  1  am  sure  I  have  more  reason  to 
dislike  Helen  than  you  have,  but  I  will  not  let 
my  mind  be  moved  by  insignificant  trifles.  It 
was  only  last  Thursday  when  Mr.  Beckman 
was  here,  and  we  were  agreeably  engaged  in 
discussing  the  beauties  of  Marmion.  Mr. 
Beckman  was  trying  to  recall  a  stanza  in  one 
of  the  songs  ;  I  could  not  tell  him,  for  indeed  I 
only  skimmed  the  book,  just  to  be  able  to  con 
verse  about  it ;  and  don't  you  think  he  asked 
Helen  if  shexrecollected  it  ;  and  she  had  the 
effrontery  to  repeat  every  word,  arid  then  he 
directed  all  his  conversation  to  her,  and  she 
seemed  to  understand  all  he  said,  though  much 
of  it  was  about  characters  and  sentiments  that 
I  never  heard  of  before  ?  I  should  have  been 
provoked  with  Helen,  only  I  thought  myself 
above  it.' 

i  It  will  be  just  so  this  evening,'  said  Eliza. 
*  You  will  find  Helen  will  gain  the  attention  of 
Howard  and  Beckman,  and  those  are  the  only 
gentlemen  we  shall  have  that  I  care  a  straw 
for.  I  wish  she  was  away.' 

Helen  Bond,  the  innocent  cause  of  all  this 
disturbance  in  the  minds  of  these  young  ladies, 
was  the  only  child  of  a  deceased  clergyman. 
He  was  drowned  by  the  upsetting  of  a  boat,  in 
consequence  of  the  intoxication  of  one  of  the 
boatmen,  as  he  was  returning  from  a  voyage 
taken  for  the  benefit  of  his  health,  and  which 
had  apparently  re-established  it.  He  was 
drowned  in  sight  of  his  own  home,  of  his  wife 
12 


138  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

and  child,  who  had  hurried  to  the  beach  to  wel 
come  his  landing.  He  went  down  with  their 
shrieks  of  agony  ringing  in  his  ears  ;  but  his 
was  the  most  enviable  lot.  Who  can  tell  the 
bitterness  of  that  sorrow  with  which  the  new 
made  widow  and  her  fatherless  daughter  hunr* 
over  the  lifeless  remains  of  him,  who,  under 
heaven,  had  been  their  stay  and  comforter — on 
whom  had  been  all  their  dependence  for  hap 
piness  and  support  !  In  such  cases  i  'tis  the 
survivor  dies  ' 

Mrs.  Bond,  however,  survived  her  husband 
only  a  few  months,  and  then  poor  Helen  had 
no  resource  but  to  seek  her  livelihood  among 
strangers,  or  accept  the  offer  of  a  residence 
with  her  cousins,  the  Miss  Thompsons.  Hel 
en  Bond  had  been  as  well  instructed  as  the 
present  imperfect  system  of  female  education 
will  admit.  But  with  all  her  i  solid'  learning 
and  accomplishments,  she  still  suffered  from 
that  radical  defect  in  the  fashionable  education 
of  young  women,  namely,  that  she  had  riot  been 
taught  the  application  of  her  learning  to  any 
useful  purpose.  It  is  this  defect  which  ren 
ders  the  educated,  when  deprived  of  friends 
and  resources,  less  capable  of  providing  for 
themselves  than  are  the  ignorant  who  have  not 
been  made  delicate  and  sensitive  by  refinement 
of  intellect  and  manners. 

One  feminine  accomplishment,  however, 
Helen  possessed  and  improved  advantageously 
— she  excelled  in  fine  needlework,  and  it  was 
the  knowledge  of  her  expertness  and  industry  in 
sewing,  that  induced  her  cousins  to  wish  her 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  BLEU.        139 

residence  with  them.  They  had  need  of  her 
assistance,  for  they  were  very  indolent,  and 
they  availed  themselves  to  the  utmost  of  her 
taste  and  skill  in  the  designing  and  finishing 
their  elaborate  dresses.  But  still  they  affect 
ed  to  consider  Helen  as  entirely  beholden  to 
their  generosity  for  a  home,  and  she  daily  felt 
all  the  bitterness  of  dependance,  superadded 
to  the  necessity  of  earning  her  own  bread. 
She  wished  to  break  the  thrall,  but  it  required 
an  effort  of  mind,  which  a  timid  and  delicate 
young  lady  of  eighteen,  who  had  never  been 
familiarized  to  the  idea  that  she  could,  should 
necessity  and  duty  dictate,  support  herself, 
would  hardly  be  supposed  sufficiently  energet 
ic,  to  make.  But  when  she  discovered  the 
envy  and  jealousy  her  cousins  entertained  to 
wards  her,  and  perhaps  felt  a  little  conscious 
when  surveying  herself  in  the  glass,  that  she 
was  a  dangerous  rival  to  them,  especially  in 
their  designs  on  the  heart  of  one  young  gentle 
man  whom  they  wished  to  attract,  she  deter 
mined  to  leave  their  roof,  though  she  went  to 
service  to  earn  her  livelihood.  Her  resolution 
was  accelerated  by  the  occurrences  of  the  eve 
ning  on  which  the  Miss  Thompsons  gave  their 
brilliant  assembly.  The  marked  attention 
paid  Helen  by  Ploratio  Howard  exasperated 
the  sisters,  and  the  ironical  compliments  they 
lavished  on  her  the  next  day,  she  considered 
so  cruel  and  humiliating,  that  her  spirit,  sub 
dued  as  it  had  been  by  sorrow  and  suffering, 
rose  at  once  to  the  aid  of  her  reason,  till  she 
no  longer  hesitated  to  follow  its  dictates.  She 


140  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

applied  to  a  friend  of  her  late  father,  told  him, 
in  part,  her  trials,  and  besought  him  to  find 
some  business  in  which  she  might  with  proprie 
ty  engage.  With  the  most  delicate  kindness 
he  offered  her  a  home  in  his  own  family  ;  but 
though  her  rejection  of  his  generous  offer  was, 
for  some  time,  impeded  by  her  tears  of  grati 
tude,  it  was  nevertheless  decided. 

1 1  cannot,'  said  she,  i  consent  to  live  any 
longer  in  the  ease  of  opulence,  when  at  the 
best  I  can  only  enjoy  it  by  the  benevolence 
of  friends.  If  I  were  deprived  of  health,  or 
incapable  of  exertion,  the  case  would  be  other 
wise  ;  I  would  then  humbly  accept  your  gene 
rous  offer  of  a  maintenance  ;  but  1  am  deter 
mined  never  to  attempt  to  mingle  again  in 
splendid  circles,  while  I  am  dependant  on 
charity  for  a  support.  There  is,  sir,  to  my 
feelings,  an  impropriety  almost  an  indelicacy, 
in  the  situation  of  living  thus  without  any  ap 
parent  aim  or  present  usefulness  ;  yet  I  own  I 
might  not  have  been  sensible  of  this,  had  not 
the  unkind  observations  of  my  cousins  taught 
me  to  reflect.  I  have  learned  from  them  that 
the  young  lady  who  does  so  live,  is  always  sup 
posed  by  the  world  to  be  anxiously  watching 
for  an  opportunity  of  establishing  herself  by 
marrying,  and  that  it  is  generally  thought  by 
the  gentlemen  she  will  accept  the  first  good 
offer.  They  must  then  think  her  vain  and 
selfish,  if  not  artful.  0  !  I  cannot  endure  such 
surmises  and  observations' — continued  she, 
bursting  into  a  flood  of  tears — c  and  if  you 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  BLEU.       141 

wish  to  make  me  contented  and  happy,  pray 
tell  me  something  I  can  do  for  myself.' 

Her  father's  friend  in  a  short  time  procured 
for  her  a  situation  as  Instructress  in  an  Acad 
emy  at  some  distance  from  the  metropolis  ; 
and  her  letters  soon  hreathed  such  a  spirit  of 
satisfaction,  that  he  would  have  felt  amply  re 
compensed  for  his  trouble,  in  the  idea  that  he 
had  contributed  to  her  happiness,  without  the 
acknowledgements  she  so  frequently  and  feel 
ingly  made. 

'  I  would  not,'  she  wrote,  l  after  passing  a 
day  of  activity  in  my  school,  exchange  the  ap 
probation  of  my  own  heart,  while  it  whispers 
I  have  been  usefully,  rationally  and  innocently 
employed,  for  the  opportunity  of  attending 
every  party  my  fashionable  cousins  will  give 
through  the  season.' 

1  And  how  did  her  rich  and  fashionable 
cousins  enjoy  themselves  ?  Did  they  succeed 
in  securing  their  favorite  beaux,  when  the 
field  was  left  them  without  a  rival  ?'  every 
young  lady  is  ready  to  inquire. 

They, did  not,  either  of  them,  secure  Hora 
tio  Howard.  Yet  he  was  very  ambitious,  as 
young  lawyers,  who  feel  a  consciousness  of 
their  own  abilities,  are  apt  to  be  ;  and  he  knew 
enough  of  the  world  to  be  sensible  that  the 
eclat  and  advantage  of  commencing  business 
with  a  capital  of  $50,000  would  be  a  mighty 
convenient  thing.  And  he  began  his  visits  to 
the  Miss  Thompsons  with  something  very 
much  like  a  resolution  of  making  love  to  one 
of  them.  Lucretia  was  the  first  object  of  his 


142  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

scrutiny — it  could  be  called  nothing  else — but 
with  her  he  was  soon  disgusted. 

To  a  man  of  real  refinement,  good  sense, 
taste  and  intelligence,  the  character  of  a  would- 
be-literary  lady  is,  1  believe,  most  intolerable. 
The  affectation  of  those  whims  and  eccentrici 
ties,  said  to  distinguish  genius,  is  of  all  affecta 
tions,  most  preposterous,  and  always  indicative 
of  a  silly  mind,  or  weak  judgment — in  a  man  it 
is  ridiculous,  in  a  woman  disgusting.  Yet  this 
affectation  was  all  the  claim  Lucretia  had  to 
genius.  She  pretended  to  be  absent-minded, 
ignorant  of  common  affairs,  and  above  all,  to 
despise  the  dull  routine  of  domestic  duties  her 
sex  enjoined  upon  her.  Then  she  talked  loud 
and  as  learnedly  as  Mrs.  Malaprop,  and  de 
lighted  in  criticism  and  controversy,  argument 
being,  as  she  considered,  her  peculiar  forte. 
This  propensity  was  much  strengthened  by 
the  manner  in  which  she  was  treated  by  the 
gentlemen — the  civility  due  a  lady,  especially 
a  rich  lady,  prompted  them  to  allow  the  asser 
tions  of  Lucretia  all  the  credit  of  facts,  and  so 
she  usually  gained  the  argument.  But  they 
indemnified  themselves  for  these  concessions, 
as  they  always  do,  by  representing  the  object 
of  their  complaisance  too  insignificant  for  seri 
ous  opposition.  Yet  they  dreaded  the  society 
of  Lucretia,  and  while  ridiculing  her  pedantry, 
generally  hated  her  person.  At  least  so  did 
Horatio  Howard.  But  still  he  felt  loath  to  re 
linquish  the  £.30,000,  and  so  turned  his  atten 
tion  on  the  belle,  and  Miss  Eliza  Thompson 
was,  for  some  time,  flattered  with  the  idea  that 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  BLEU.        143 

she  should  win  him.  But  if  he  was  disgusted 
with  the  affectation  of  literature  in  the  bleu,  he 
was  sickened  by  the  affectation  of  sentiment 
and  sensibility  in  the  belle  ;  and  he  could  not 
but  acknowledge  that  though  learning  might 
make  a  woman  excessively  disagreeable,  yet 
she  might  be  excessively  disagreeable  without 
it.  But  yet  he  was  constant  in  his  visits,  while 
Helen  Bond  resided  with  her  cousins,  and  lis 
tened  without  much  apparent  weariness  to  the 
.*  long  talks'  of  Lucretia  and  the  common  place 
nothings  of  Eliza  ;  and  the  world  had  decided 
that  he  would  certainly  marry  one  of  the  sisters. 
Perh aps  he  rather  thought  such  would  be  the 
conclusion  of  the  matter.  However  he  called 
on  the  young  ladies  a  few  days  after  the  de 
parture  of  Helen  Bond,  and  they  both  remark 
ed  he  was  in  very  bad  humor,  seemed  impatient, 
almost  irritable,  while  they  were  exerting  them 
selves  to  entertain  him  ;  the  one  criticising  the 
sermon  she  had  heard  the  last  sabbath — and 
the  other  ridiculing  the  odious  bonnets  she  had 
seen  at  church — till  finally,  Howard  started 
abruptly  from  his  seat,  said  something  of  busi 
ness  to  be  attended  to,  and  wished  them  both 
good  morning.  He  was  seen  walking  hastily 
towards  his  office,  his  hat  set  very  perpendicu 
lar  on  his  head,  and  his  lips  firmly  compressed  ; 
and  to  judge  from  his  conduct,  afterwards,  he 
was  then  breathing  a  vow  never  to  risk  his  do 
mestic  happiness  by  a  marriage  in  which  gold 
\vas  the  only  object  of  pursuit.  From  that  time 
he  devoted  himself  entirely  to  the  business  of 
his  profession  ;  invitations  were  rejected  and 


144  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

parties  neglected,  till  finally,  though  he  obtain 
ed  high  reputation  at  the  bar,  he  entirely  lost 
credit  with  the  ladies,  and  his  name  was  omitted 
on  their  list  of  beaux,  being  called  a  confirm 
ed  bachelor. 

But  there  is  no  danger  that  young  ladies 
with  §50,000  will  not  find  husbands,  though 
like  Lucretia,  they  make  a  resolution  never  to 
wed  a  man  that  has  not  been  liberally  educat 
ed.  A  thoroughly  selfish  mind,  even  when 
polished  by  a  liberal  education,  will  retain  its. 
selfishness.  Such  a  mind  had  John  Beckman, 
and  though  he  disliked  Lucretia  Thompson  he 
married  her.  There  was  probably  more  af 
fection  on  her  part,  yet  she  declared  that  it 
was  only  because  Mr.  Beckman  knew  so  well 
how  to  appreciate  her  talents  that  she  was  in 
duced  to  accept  him.  But  his  estimation  of 
her  talents,  after  the  l  vow  was  said,'  she  found 
altered  materially  ;  he  no  longer  consulted  her 
opinion,  before  expressing  his  own,  nor  yielded 
her  every  contested  point,  nor  expressed  any 
wishes  that  his  taste  might  be  always  in  ac 
cordance  with  hers.  Indeed  their  opinions  or 
taste,  were  seldom  in  accordance  after  the  first 
three  months  of  their  wedded  life  had  passed. 
In  vain  she  tried  arguments,  reproaches  and 
railings,  to  convince  him  she  was  ill-treated. 
He  would  not  be  convinced. 

1  Mr.  Beckman,'  said  she,  her  eyes  flashing 
fire,  and  her  whole  countenance  glowing  with 
rage,  '  had  I  known  you  for  such  an  obstinate 
mule,  one  that  will  not  listen  to  an  argument, 
I  never  would  have  married  you.7 


THE  BELLE  AND  THE  Bf/EU.  145 

1  Madam,'  he  replied,  with  the  most  perfect 
coolness,  '  I  am  not  disappointed  in  you — I  al 
ways  knew  you  for  a  fool.' 

Eliza  Thompson  married  a  husband  more 
congenial  in  disposition  to  herself;  a  pert,  con 
ceited  fop,  all  fashion  and  affectation.  Her 
money  supported  them  in  style  just  ten  years, 
and  they  lived  by  expedients  three  more  of 
showy  poverty,  and  then  all  the  glitter  of  life, 
and  consequently  to  them,  all  its  joys  were 
over.  They  now  inhabit  a  miserable  garret, 
up  three  pair  of  stairs,  dependant  mostly  on  the 
charity  of  their  relations.  The  bounty  of  Mrs. 
Beckinan  is,  however,  grudgingly  bestowed  on 
her  sister,  and  always  accompanied  by  a  chap 
ter  of  reproaches,  under  the  title  of  advice. 
The  answer  of  Eliza  is  generally  to  the  purport, 
that  she  has  a  kind  husband,  and  therefore  is 
as  happy  without  fortune  as  Lucretia  is  with. 

Mr.  Jacob  Towner  is  careful  to  add  a  little 
to  his  stores  every  year,  but  yet  constantly 
harangues  his  family  on  the  vanity  of  setting 
the  affections  on  the  things  of  this  world,  ob 
serving  that  rich  men's  children  are  frequently 
paupers,  and  illustrating  his  position  by  citing 
the  case  of  Eliza  Thompson  ;  always  ending 
his  remarks  with  the  hope  that  some  of  her 
§50,000  found  its  way  back  into  the  pockets 
of  those  poor  men  from  whom  it  was  wrung 
by  her  father.  Mrs.  Patten,  likewise,  often 
quotes  the  name  of  Eliza  Thompson,  when 
she  would  warn  her  daughters  against  extrav 
agance  in  dress,  or  idleness,  which  she  thinks 
was  the  whole  cause  of  the  misfortunes  of  the 
13 


146  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

heiress  ;  and  Miss  Horton  congratulates  her 
self  she  was  never  induced  to  marry,  saying, 
'  that  the  fate  of  the  rich  Miss  Thompsons  was 
a  warning  to  her  ;  if  those  ladies  could  only  ob 
tain  for  husbands  the  one  a  sullen  miser,  and  the 
other  a  silly  spendthrift,  she  is  sure  the  single 
state  must  be  the  one  of  "  blessedness." 

Helen  Bond — what  young  lady  does  not  wish 
to  learn  the  fate  of  that  afflicted,  but  high-souled 
girl  ?  Horatio  Howard — what  young  gentle 
man,  especially  if  he  prefer  that  '  clear  honor  ' 
which  is  '  purchased  by  the  merit  of  the  wear 
er,'  to  the  trappings  of  wealth,  obtained  by  the 
perjury  of  the  heart,  does  not  feel  curious  to 
know  the  issue  of  the  fortunes  of  Horatio  How 
ard  ?  Talents  and  merit,  if  supported  by  in 
dustry  and  prudence,  have,  in  our  free  country, 
nothing  to  fear.  Horatio  Howard  gained  the 
station  of  eminence  he  so  justly  deserved  ;  and 
to  the  friend  who  not  long  since  visited  him,  he 
said,  as  they  were  returning  from  a  walk  in  the 
gardens  around  his  beautiful  summer  residence 
— l  Yes,  I  have  been,  as  you  remark,  highly 
prospered,  but  the  best,  gift  Heaven  ever  be 
stowed  on  me  was,  my — wife.  It  may  sound 
foolish  for  me  to  speak  her  eulogium — to  a 
stranger,  I  certainly-should  not  thus  unlock  the 
u  secret  casket  of  my  soul  j"  but  you,  sir,  was 
acquainted  with  Helen  Bond,  and  with  my  par 
tiality  for  her.  But  dearly  as  I  loved  her  then, 
she  is  now  far  dearer,  because  I  now  know 
her  worth  and  can  repose  my  whole  heart  in 
confidence  upon  her  discretion  as  well  as  her 
affection.  There  is  for  me  no  place  like  horned 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR. 


{  Wherever  there  has  existed  wise  institutions  for  the  secu 
rity  of  liberty  the  progress  of  knowledge  has  immediately  be 
come  visible.  There  is  then  a  bright  inducement  in  every 
career  which  an  ardent  mind  springs  forward  to  attain.' 

MADAME  DE  STAEL. 

NOT  wlellectuallij  poor,  but  few  however 
would  be  guilty  of  such  a  mistake.  Most  men, 
and  indeed  women  too,  consider  poverty  mere 
ly  as  the  lack  of  worldly  goods,  chattels  and 
possessions  ;  poor  therefore  would  never,  by 
such,  be  applied  to  mind. 

But  I  like  to  define  my  meaning  so  clearly 
that  there  shall  not  be  the  possibility  of  mistake; 
and  accordingly  I  feel  bound  to  declare  that 
George  Torrey  had,  from  infancy,  exhibited  an 
uncommon  aptitude  for  learning,  and  that  kind 
of  inquisitiveness  concerning  the  nature  and 
design  of  everything  he  saw,  that  marks  the 
reasoning  child.  These  qualities  always  argue 
a  tendency  of  mind  that  requires  only  right 
cultivation  to  insure  eminence,  or  at  least, 
scholarship,  to  their  possessor.  (  Knowledge 
may  be  acquired  by  study,  but  genius  is  the 
gift  of  God,'  is,  I  believe,  a  quotation  ;  and  had 
the  writer  of  the  apothegm  known  George  Tor- 


148  AMERICAN  SKETCFIES. 

rey,  he  might  have  mentioned  him  as  an  illus 
tration  of  his  proverb,  since  it  seemed  impossi 
ble  his  inclination  for  study  should  have  been 
fostered  either  by  example  or  precept.  I  shall 
relate  the  childish  history  of  my  hero  minutely, 
that  those  who  feel  interested  in  the  subject 
may  have  an  opportunity  of  tracing  the  opera 
tions  of  his  young  mind,  and  then  they  can 
better  decide  on  the  propriety  of  styling  him, 
as  be  often  was,  the  '  scholar  of  nature.'  The 
father  of  George  died  before  he  was  born,  and 
his  mother,  when  he  was  eighteen  months  old  ; 
and  then  the  boy  would  have  been  on  the  pau 
per  list,  but  for  the  benevolence  of  an  aunt,  an 
old  maid,  but  who  was  nevertheless  such  a 
good,  kind  hearted  creature,  that  it  was  always 
a  matter  of  astonishment  to  the  gossips  why 
aunt  Jemima  was  never  married. 

When  aunt  Jemima  thus  voluntarily  burden 
ed  herself  with  the  charge  of  an  infant,  she  was 
rising  of  forty  years  of  age,  very  poor,  obtain 
ing  her  livelihood  solely  by  spinning.  She 
was,  however,  as  expert  in  the  business  of  the 
distaiT,  as  ever  were  the  ladies  of  Home  ;  but 
as  she  never  attempted  to  dignify  her  employ 
ment  by  any  classical  allusions,  it  is  probable 
she  had  never  hoard  the  name  of  *  Lucretia.' 
Yet  she  had  prido,  and  it  would  be  no  dispar 
agement  to  the  Roman  ladies  to  say  aunt  Je 
mima's  was  Horn  an  pride  ;  certainly  it  was  lau 
dable  ambition,  for  it  stimulated  her  to  honest 
exertions  for  her  own  support  and  the  mainte 
nance  of  her  little  nephew,  without  appealing  to 
the  cold  charity  of  her  prosperous  neighbours, 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  149" 

or  the  colder  charity  of  the  law.  She  kept 
George  with  her  till  he  was  eight,  and  then  a 
farmer  offering  to  take  him  and  learn  him  the 
( mystery  of  agriculture,'  she  deemed  it  her 
duty  to  place  the  boy  with  Mr.  White.  But 
the  separation  cost  her  many  tears,  and  she 
often  declared  that  '  if  she  had  not  thought  it 
best  for  the  child  to  go,  she  would  have  work 
ed  her  hands  off  before  she  would  have  parted 
with  the  dear  little  creature.' 

George  had  never  been  at  school  a  single 
day  while  with  his  aunt  ;  she  thought  she  could 
not  provide  books  for  him,  and  moreover,  she 
lived  two  miles  from  the  school-house,  and  was 
afraid  to  trust  her  darling  to  go  so  far  alone. 

But  when  she  read  in  her  Bible,  which  was 
regularly  every  morning,  little  George  was  per 
mitted  to  stand  close  by  her  chair,  and  encour 
aged  to  find  and  tell  the  large  letters.  When 
he  had  thus  learned  them,  his  curiosity  seemed 
increased  ;  and  his  aunt  willingly  answered  his 
inquiries,  because  she  really  loved  him,  and 
dearly  loved  to  talk,  and  so  he  learned  the  small 
letters,  and  then  it  was  not  long  before  he  could 
read  a  verse  intelligibly.  By  the  time  he  was 
four  years  of  age  he  had  read  through  the  '  Gos 
pel  according  to  St.  John.' 

Though  aunt  Jemima  thus  fostered  the 
c  young  idea,'  she  was  herself  as  destitute  of 
those  acquirements  that  confer  on  a  woman  the 
character  of  a  has  6/we,  as  any  of  our  fastidious 
ly  fashionable  young  beaux  could  desire.  The 
most  sensitive  of  the  tribe  of  dandies  might 
have  conversed  with  aunt  Jemima  without  the 


-I 


T50  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

least  dread  of  being  shocked  by  a  Latin  quota 
tion,  or  bored  by  a  learned  phrase,  or  a  refer 
ence  to  books  of  which  he  never  before  heard 
the  titles  ;  neither  would  he  have  run  any  haz 
ard  of  being  urged  to  write  in  an  i  album,'  or 
tell  his  opinion  of  the  '  last  new  novel,'  or  ad 
mire  the  last  '  charming  poem.'  Aunt  Jemi 
ma  knew  no  more  of  novels  or  albums,  than 
she  did  of  Greek  or  Arabic  ;  indeed  it  is  not 
probable  she  had  ever  read  a  whole  volume  of 
any  kind,  (the  Bible  excepted)  during  her  life. 
Her  library,  besides  the  *  Scriptures,'  consisted 
of  but  two  books,  both  of  which  she  inherited 
from  her  grandmother.  One  was  a  sermon, 
preached  somewhere  in  Connecticut,  at  the 
funeral  of  an  Indian  who  was  hanged  for  mur 
der.  This  sermon,  aunt  Jemima  said, '  though 
she  never  had  had  time  to  read  it  all,  she  thought 
very  edifying.'  Indeed  she  prized  it  so  highly 
that  she  did  not  like  to  trust  it  in  the  grasp  of  a 
careless  ckild  ;  but  the  other  book,  labelled 
'Wonderful  accidents  and  entertaining  Stories,' 
she  permitted  George  to  use  as  he  pleased. 
The  volume  had  once  contained  some  interest 
ing  articles,  but  time,  smoke,  and  the  hands  of 
'  unwashed  artificers'  had  made  its  pages  near 
ly  as  dingy  and  illegible  as  a  Herculaneum 
manuscript.  The  story  of  '  Alnaschar  the 
Persian  Classman,'  being  in  the  middle  of  the 
book,  was  however  tolerably  entire,  but  it  was 
much  abridged,  ending  with  the  breaking  of  the 
glass.  The  plate  representing  the  overturn  of 
the  basket  pleased  little  George,  and  he  soon 
learned  to  read  the  fable  ;  he  read  and  re-read 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  151 

it  till  he  could  repeat  every  word,  and  then  he 
reasoned  with  aunt  Jemima  on  the  subject  till 
he  made  her  quite  pettish  at  answering  his  in 
quiries  about  so  silly  a  story  ;  and  then  he  con 
sidered  the  matter  himself  in  silence,  till  he 
learned  to  understand  the  meaning  and  the 
moral  more  judiciously  than  would  many  a 
grown  man.  Perhaps  that  story  determined 
the  bias  of  his  mind,  for  he  was,  even  in  early 
youth,  noted  for  the  directness  with  which  he 
sought  and  comprehended  the  effect  of  any 
romantic  project,  always  seeming  to  distrust 
everything  illusory,  and  to  feel  that  exertions, 
riot  idle  wishes  or  visions,  were  necessary  to 
success. 

There  was  also  another  circumstance  that 
contributed  to  fix  an  impression  on  the  mind 
of  George  that  perseverance  would  be  reward 
ed,  and  that  he  might,  if  he  took  proper  meth 
ods,  hope  to  obtain  some  consequence  in  the 
world.  Though  aunt  Jemima  paid  little  atten 
tion  to  the  story  of  l  Alnasehar,'  yet  she  was 
proud  of  the  proficiency  her  favorite  made  in 
reading  the  Scriptures.  Whenever  the  cler 
gyman  of  the  parish  called  to  see  her,  which 
duty  he  usually  performed  regularly  every 
year,  she  always  dilated  on  the  progress  her 
nephew  made  in  learning,  telling  how  many 
chapters  he  would  read  in  the  Bible  of  a  Sun 
day,  &.c.  (she  never  mentioned  the  story  book) 
usually  concluding  with  the  observation,  '  that 
for  her  part  it  seemed  to  her  that  the  boy  was 
born  to  be  a  minister.' 

To  please  her  the  good  man  once  requested 


152  AMERICAN  SKETCHES, 

to  hear  the  child  read,  and  was  himself  very 
much  surprised  at  his  performance,  because  he 
read  so  understandingly.  He  called  the  boy 
to  him,  and  laying  his  hand  on  the  curly  hair 
of  the  poor,  destitute  orphan,  gravely  said, 
1  My  little  fellow  you  have  no  father  on  earth, 
but  your  Father  who  is  in  heaven  still  watches 
over  you.  He  will  take  care  of  you  if  you  are 
good,  and  you  must  look  to  him,  and  love  him, 
and  serve  him.  You  can  learn,  I  see,  and  you 
may,  if  you  try,  be  a  scholar,  and  perhaps  a 
great  man.  You  must  always  depend  on  God, 
but  remember  and  do  all  you  can  for  yourself 

That  lesson  was  never  effaced  from  the 
memory  of  George  Torrey.  He  had  never 
before  received  notice  or  encouragement  from 
any  mortal  except  his  old  aunt,  and  the  sooth 
ing  expressions  of  the  minister  fell  on  his  ear 
like  a  sacred  promise  from  some  exalted  be 
ing. 

The  farmer  to  whom  George  was  bound  was 
a  man  of  some  property,  and  reputed  honest 
and  industrious  ;  but  he  had  no  education.  In 
deed  both  he  and  his  wife,  (would  there  were 
none  other  such  couples  to  be  found  in  our 
country,)  were  profoundly  ignorant  of  every 
thing  pertaining  to  literature,  excepting  that 
they  could  read,  and  write  their  names  ;  and 
had  not  the  boy  enjoyed  the  advantage  of  at 
tending  the  district  school,  he  would  in  no  wise 
have  been  mentally  benefited  by  his  change 
of  abode.  But  it  was  stipulated  in  his  '  Inden 
ture,'  that  he  should  be  l  sent  to  school  two 
months  every  winter  till  he  could  read,  write, 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  153 

and  cipher  through  the  rule  of  Three.'  Such 
is  the  vigilance  with  which  our  laws  watch 
over  the  interests  of  the  poor  and  destitute  ; 
none  here  are  deprived  of  the  benefit  of  instruc 
tion,  none  need  be  ignorant. 

The  first  winter  that  George  Torrey  attend 
ed  school,  his  proficiency  astonished  his  in- 
structer,  and  made  Mr.  White  declare  '  he 
did'nt  believe  the  lad  would  ever  be  good  for 
anything  at  farming.'  But  a  judicious  person 
who  had  been  acquainted  with  the  operations 
of  his  young  mind,  and  the  peculiar  train  of 
ideas  he  had  imbibed,  might  have  calculated 
the  result.  Though  aunt  Jemima  did  not  ex 
pect  it,  yet  she  was  highly  delighted,  and  took 
much  credit  to  herself  for  the  manner  in  which 
she  had  instructed  the  child. 

Ten  years  passed,  and  George  Torrey  was 
in  stature  a  man  ;  in  understanding  and  learn 
ing,  he  was  far  superior  to  the  men  among 
whom  he  resided  ;  but  his  modesty  and  the 
retiring  diffidence  that  usually  accompanies 
genius  when  self-taught,  prevented  him  from 
assuming  those  airs  of  superiority  that  fre 
quently  bring  envy  and  ill-will  to  the  possessor 
of  extraordinary  abilities.  The  business  in 
which  he  was  engaged  could  not  be  supposed 
congenial  to  his  feelings,  yet  he  labored  faith 
fully  for  Mr.  White  ;  and  that  man,  destitute 
as  he  was  of  taste  and  literature,  paid  great 
respect  to  the  talents  of  his  indented  boy,  em 
ploying  him  to  keep  his  accounts,  consulting 
him  in  all  his  bargains,  and  frequently  allowing 
him  leisure  for  reading  which  seemed  incom- 


154  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

patible  with  his  own  interest,  and  which  would 
not  have  been  expected  from  a  person  of  his 
habits.  But  in  a  country  where  there  is  no 
privileged  class,  genius  and  industry  may  attain 
the  highest  honors  ;  and  thus  a  value  is  stamp 
ed  upon  talents,  which  carries  a  conviction  of 
their  worth  to  the  minds  of  those  who  make  no 
pretension  of  possessing  them. 

The  winter  succeeding  the  eighteenth  birth 
day  of  George  was  an  important  one  to  him,  as 
it  was  then  he  first  formed  a  fixed  resolve  to 
obtain  an  education.  At  that  time,  the  clergy 
man,  who  had  listened  to  the  Bible  lesson  of 
George,  heard  his  attainments  spoken  of  as 
extraordinary  for  his  opportunities  ;  and  on  in 
quiry  being  satisfied  of  the  truth  of  popular 
report,  he  proposed  the  youth  as  a  teacher,  in 
his,  the  clergyman's  district,  for  the  winter 
school.  The  worthy  parson  felt  glad  to  assist 
George,  and  he  felt  a  little  proud  too,  that  the 
prediction  he  had  uttered  concerning  him, 
seemed  likely  to  be  fulfilled. 

Mr.  White  was  persuaded  to  allow  George 
to  go,  yet  he  said  he  '  needed  him  at  home,  but 
as  the  young  fellow  seemed  so  set  upon  the 
business,  he  could  not  disappoint  him.  Learn 
ing  he  knew  was  a  fine  thing,  though  he  never 
could  get  it,  for  he  never  loved  his  book  ;  but 
George  loved  to  study  better  than  he  did  to  eat 
— he  had  known  him  leave  his  dinner  many  a 
time  to  read  a  newspaper,  or  anything  that 
had  letters  on  it — and  so,7  he  continued,  '  it  is 
for  his  good  I  consent  to  let  him  go.' 

Mr.  White  thought  of  his  own  interest,  not- 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  155 

withstanding  these  professions  ;  George  had 
offered,  if  he  might  be  allowed  to  keep  the 
school,  to  give  every  cent  of  his  wages  to  his 
legal  master — and  it  would  be  more  than  he 
could  earn  by  labor.  The  youth  expected  only 
more  leisure,  and  books,  and  better  society — 
that  was  all  he  then  coveted,  to  make  him  bles 
sed.  He  boarded  with  the  clergyman,  Mr. 
Dorr,  who  was  not  long  in  discovering  his  tal 
ents  and  thirst  for  learning.  Mr.  Dorr,  was 
one  of  those  really  benevolent  men,  who  de 
light  in  doing  good,  and  diffusing  happiness  ; — 
yet  he  was  not  a  visionary.  His  sound  judg 
ment  and  acquaintance  with  the  world,  served 
to  correct  that  enthusiasm,  which  the  warmth 
of  feeling,  necessary  to  make  a  philanthropist, 
often  raises  to  an  effervescence  of  zeal  which 
destroys,  or  renders  ridiculous,  the  cause  or 
object  it  is  attempting  to  serve. 

Mr.  Dorr  weighed  deliberately  the  present 
prospects,  and  what  might  be  the  future  expec 
tations  of  the  poor  scholar.  He  conversed 
with  George  freely,  and  faithfully,  on  the  sub 
ject  ;  represented  to  him  the  struggles  he  must 
make,  the  privations  he  must  endure,  the  mor 
tifications  to  which  he  would  be  exposed,  if  he 
left  the  vale  of  humble  life,  where  he  was  born, 
and  had  been  raised,  and  aspired  to  rank  with 
the  rich,  and  mingle  with  the  gifted. 

i  I  can  do  it  all,  I  can  bear  it  all,'  eagerly 
replied  George  Torrey,  c  if  I  may  but  escape 
poverty  of  mind — this  sense  of  my  own  igno 
rance  that  oppresses  me,  whenever  I  approach 
or  attempt  to  converse  with  an  intelligent  per- 


156  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

son;  I  have,'  continued  he,  rising  and  walking 
the  room  with  quickness,  ( I  have  frequently 
laid  down  the  book  I  was  reading,  and  wept 
to  think  I  should  never  be  qualified  to  write 
one.7 

'  Onward,  then,  must  be  your  motto,'  said 
Mr.  Dorr.  '  Onward  ;  the  path  will  sometimes 
be  rugged,  but  a  prize  cannot  be  won  without 
labor.  Industry  is,  in  our  land,  the  grand  lev 
er  that  exalts  to  eminence.  I  will  cheerfully 
give  you  all  the  aid  I  can.  If  you  succeed, 
your  own  pleasure  and  the  praises  of  the  world 
will  be  enhanced  by  reflecting  on  the  obstacles 
you  have  surmounted  ;  should  you  fail,  you 
can  comfort  yourself,  that  your  object  was 
praiseworthy.  It  is  motives,  not  triumphs, 
that  make  the  merit  of  our  character.' 

George  Torrey  immediately  commenced  the 
study  of  the  Latin  ;  and  when  his  school  was 
finished,  had  read  six  books  in  Virgil. 

1  You  must  now  return  to  your  labor,  to  the 
plough,'  said  Mr.  Dorr,  to  George,  as  he  ex 
tended  his  hand  to  him.  '  I  am  not  able  to  as 
sist  you  in  purchasing  your  time,  neither  do  I 
think  it  best  to  attempt  it.  Young  men  are 
prone  to  be  restless  arid  impatient  of  restraint, 
and  genius  is  peculiarly  restive  under  fetters  ; 
but  lessons  of  self-denial  are  rarely  injurious  to 
a  mind  like  yours.  The  dull  require  the  spur, 
the  ardent  need  the  rein.  I  advise  you  to 
serve  out  your  time  as  the  law  directs — but 
there  will  be  intervals  when  you  may,  without 
wronging  your  master  by  eyeservice,  pursue 
your  studies.  Improve  such  moments,  and 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  157 

come  to  me,  as  freely  as  a  son  to  a  father,  for 
instruction  whenever  you  wish.' 

There  is  nothing  on  earth  so  valued  by  the 
young,  ingenuous  mind  as  kindness,  as  those 
expressions  that  seem  dictated  .by  a  sympathy 
for  our  feelings  and  situation.  The  eyes  of 
George  were  full  of  tears,  and  his  heart  throb 
bed  with  emotions  of  gratitude,  as  he  turned 
from  the  door  of  the  man  whom  he  considered 
his  friend.  He  felt  for  him  a  love,  a  venera 
tion,  which  no  pecuniary  gift  could  have  excit 
ed  ;  and  the  first  effort  he  ever  made  to  scrib 
ble  poetry,  was  to  celebrate  the  virtues  of  his 
benefactor,  which  he  did  in  a  long  ode. 

Mr.  White  made  George  a  present  of  five 
dollars  out  of  the  money  he  had  earned,  and  the 
youth  was  quite  thankful,  because  he  was  ena 
bled  to  purchase  some  books  he  sadly  needed  ; 
but  he  never  bestowed  on  Mr. White  so  much 
as  a  distich  in  praise  of  the  deed. 

The  success  of  George  is  doubtless  antici 
pated  ;  and  to  detail  all  the  particulars,  the 
carefulness  with  which  he  improved  every  mo 
ment,  the  shifts  he  made  to  obtain  books,  the 
distances  he  would  walk  to  his  recitations,  and 
the  joy  he  felt  when  the  law  pronounced  him 
free,  and  Mr.  Dorr  pronounced  him  fitted  for 
college,  would  make  my  story  too  long.  Any 
young  man,  let  his  station  -be  ever  so  lowly, 
who  feels  the'  same  ardor  in  the  pursuit  of 
knowledge  that  kindled  the  mind  of  my  hero, 
may  satisfy  himself,  if  he  will  only  make  the 
experiment,  that  success  is  possible.  When  a 
name  aud  a  praise  may  here  be  obtained  by 


158  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

talents  and  industry,  who  that  feels  the  (  God 
within  him '  will  be  contented  in  ignorance 
and  obscurity  ? 

But  though  George  Torrey  was  fitted  to  en 
ter  college,  he  had  not  the  means  of  support 
ing  himself  there  a  single  day.  All  that  his 
master  was  bound  to  give  him,  when  he  was 
twenty-one,  was  two  suits  of  clothes  and  a  Bi 
ble.  Mr.  Dorr  again  volunteered  to  assist  him. 
1 1  will,'  said  the  good  man,  '  advance  you  a 
sum  sufficient  to  defray  the  expense  of  your 
first  term,  and  wait  these  ten  years,  if  neces 
sary,  for  payment.  But  that  is  all  the  pecuni 
ary  aid  I  can  promise  you — you  must  thence 
forth  provide  for  yourself.  I  am  acquainted 
with  the  President,  and  one  of  the  tutors  is 
my  intimate  friend.  I  will  write  to  them,  and 
make  such  representations  as  will,  I  think,  in 
duce  them  to  deal  favorably  by  you,  and  grant 
you  periods  of  absence,  which  you  must  em 
ploy  in  keeping  school.  If  you  are  indus 
trious — no,  that  is  not  enough,  you  must  be 
laborious,  you  can  pursue  your  studies  and  re 
tain  your  station  in  your  class,  though  absent 
six  months  in  the  year.  Depend  on  yourself. 
Never  solicit  charity  if  you  can  possibly  avoid 
it  though  when  kindly  offered,  I  would  not  ad 
vise  you  to  reject  it.  But  the  spirit  of  our 
government,  of  our  people,  is  independence  ; 
and  the  mind  of  an  American,  that  will  cringe 
and  fawn  to  obtain  patronage,  or  indeed  that 
will  eagerly  accept  pecuniary  aid,  I  always 
mark  as  grovelling,  as  deficient  in  that  delicacy 
of  pride,  that  nice  sense  of  honor  which  always 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  159 

accompanies  true  genius.  Never,  my  young 
friend,  forfeit  your  own  self-respect  ;  for  your 
heart  will  not  be  satisfied  with  the  applause  of 
the  world,  unless  you  feel  it  is  deserved.' 

Fortified  by  such  advice,  and  furnished  with 
a  little  cash,  George  departed  ;  and  perhaps 
when  it  is  considered  that  his  most  ardent  wish 
es  seemed  likely  to  be  fulfilled,  it  may  be  im 
agined  he  went  joyfully.  But  it  was  not  so. 
When  a  person  has  been  accustomed  to  a  large 
society  and  frequent  changes  of  his  acquaint 
ance,  his  feelings  become,  in  a  manner,  gene 
ralized,  and  he  contemplates,  without  much 
emotion,  a  separation  from  his  old  friends  or  an 
introduction  to  new.  But  the  warm-hearted 
youth  who  has,  whether  from  diffidence  or  ne 
cessity,  confined  his  thoughts  and  affections  to 
one  set  of  objects,  feels,  on  quitting  them,  as 
though  the  world  were  a  desert  ;  as  if  all,  be 
yond  the  little  paradise  of  his  love,  were  a  wil 
derness  ;  and  he  should  meet,  instead  of  the 
flowers,  which,  humble  as  they  were,  had  still 
blessed  his  path,  beasts  of  prey  at  every  step. 

Much  of  this  melancholy  dread  of  the  world 
mingled  with  the  triumph  of  being  enabled  to 
pursue  his  studies,  in  the  heart  of  George  Tor- 
rey,  when  he  bade  farewell  to  the  man  whom 
he  esteemed  above  every  other  person  on  earth, 
and  loved  the  best — aunt  Jemima  excepted. 
None  of  his  ambitious  hopes  had  effaced  from 
his  memory  the  kindness  and  affection  of  her 
whom  he  considered  his  mother,  and  those 
hours  that  young  men  usually  devote  to  the 
society  of  young  ladies,  or  clubs  of  their  own 


160  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

sex,  he  had  passed  in  the  lonely  and  lowly 
apartment  of  his  poor  old  aunt,  telling  her  his 
progress  and  his  plans,  or  perhaps  reciting 
some  of  his  lessons  which,  though  said  in  what 
ever  language  they  might  be,  were  still l  Greek 
to  her,'  she  yet  liked  to  hear,  '  because,'  she 
observed, '  he  could  say  his  lesson  so  fast.'  And 
she  was  constantly  boasting  to  every  person 
she  could  make  listen  to  her,  of  the  marvellous 
acquirements  of  her  nephew,  declaring  she 
'did  not  believe  there  would  be  a  scholar  in  col 
lege  who  could  read  faster.' 

Neither  was  her  admiration  of  learning  an 
inactive  principle  ;  all  the  assistance  she  could 
render  her  own  boy,  as  she  called  George,  was 
eagerly  done.  This  however  only  amounted 
to  the  giving  him  a  few  articles  of  clothing, 
(her  own  manufacturing  of  course,  and  in  her 
opinion  much  the  better  for  that,)  and  a  vast 
deal  of  good  advice  ;  in  particular,  she  charged 
him  not  to  waste  any  time  in  vain  company,  for 
she  knew  the  evil  of  it,  having  been,  when  very 
young,  too  fond  of  dancing  ; — and  then  he  must 
always  rise  early,  she  found  it  the  best  for  her 
own  health  ;  and  above  all,  not  sit  up  too  late 
at  night,  it  was  very  bad  for  the  eyes.  1 1  find,' 
continued  she,  with  a  half  sigh,  '  I  have  set  up 
too  late  myself;  not  studying  to  be  sure,  but 
working  for  you,  George,  and  my  eyes  begin 
to  fail  a  little  already.' 

She  was  past  sixty  ;  but  when  did  a  sin 
gle  woman  ever  willingly  think  herself  old  ? 
Though  the  sensitiveness  which  is  sometimes 
betrayed  on  this  delicate  subject  is  certainly  a 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  161 

weakness,  yet  if  we  examine  the  principle  which 
causes  that  susceptibility,  we  shall,  at  least, 
acknowledge  it  an  amiable  weakness.  There 
have  been, — the  sentiment  is  fast  losing  advo 
cates, — but  there  have  been  opinions  industri 
ously  propagated,  that  those  ladies  who  lived 
to  a  certain  age  without  worshipping  in  the 
temple  of  Hymen,  were  not  always  as  women 
should  be — '  soft,  mild,  pitiful  and  flexible.' 
In  short,  old  maids  have  been  considered  un 
lovely  and  unloving,  and  what  true  woman  but 
recoils  with  instinctive  horror  from  such  a  con 
clusion  ?  and  deems  the  denial  of  her  age  ve 
nial  when  she  would  otherwise  be  subjected  to 
the  imputation  of  being  fastidious,  malicious, 
envious,  ill-natured  ?  It  is  an  intuitive  sense 
of  the  worth  and  beauty  of  goodness,  and  an 
abhorrence  of  the  qualities  which  unfeeling  sa 
tire  or  stupid  misapprehension  have  stamped 
upon  the  name  of  old  maid,  that  make  the  term 
one  of  reproach  and  dread. 

These  remarks,  considering  the  relation  in 
which  aunt  Jemima  stood  to  the  poor  scholar, 
can  hardly  be  called  a  digression.  Had  he 
known  his  character  was  to  have  been  sketch 
ed,  he  would  have  insisted  his  kind  relative 
should  have  occupied  at  least  half  the  space 
allotted  for  his  portrait.  He  loved  her  sincere 
ly,  and  always,  during  his  life,  vindicated  the 
neglected,  yet'  useful  order  of  spinsters,  from 
the  unmerited  calumnies  with  which  they  are 
too  often  assailed. 

A  few  weeks  after  George  had  departed, 
Mr.  Dorr  received  from  his  friend,  the  tutor, 
14 


AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

a  letter,  which  will  better  delineate  the  appear 
ance  of  the  youth  and  the  impression  he  made 
on  the  minds  of  his  new  associates,  than  any 
description  I  could  myself  give.  I  have  there 
fore  obtained  leave  to  transcribe  what  related 
to  him.  It  is  somewhat  long,  but  will  not,  I 
hope,  be  found  uninteresting. 

*  Your  young  friend  is  quite  an  original  ;  and 
were  there  not  one  here  to  '  divide  the  crown' 
with  him,  we  should  consider  him  a  prodigy. 
As  it  is,  he  excites  much  interest  with  us  tu 
tors,  and  some  envy,  I  fear,  among  the  students. 
But  our  opinions  appear  to  have  little  effect  up 
on  him  ;  he  goes  forward,  without  asking  ad 
miration  or  heeding  ridicule,  seemingly  deter 
mined  to  master  every  science,  and  feeling  the 
acquisition  of  knowledge  a  sufficient  reward 
for  all  his  pains.  This  I  think  to  be  the  effect 
of  the  solitary  manner  in  which  he  has  hitherto 
pursued  his  studies.  His  mind  has  thus  acquir 
ed  an  aim,  and  the  habit  of  depending  on  itself, 
on  its  own  resources  and  reflections  for  those 
sensations  of  pleasure,  that  it  is  usually  thought 
can  never  be  enjoyed  except  in  communica 
tion  and  participation,  that  is,  in  social  inter 
course.  His  reserve,  which  the  young  wits  in 
the  class  are,  I  find,  quite  disposed  to  ridicule, 
is,  in  my  opinion,  as  much  the  effect  of  his  men 
tal  independence,  as  of  that  diffidence  which 
you  say  he  always  exhibited.  His  fine  talents 
are  disciplined,  not  discouraged  by  adversity, 
and  his  judgment  so  cool  and  regulated,  that 
did  not  an  occasional  flash  of  spirit  betray  that 
warmth  of  temperament  which  circumstances 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  163 

have  made  it  necessary  for  him  to  suppress,  I 
should  think  him  born  a  Quaker.  But  he  is 
now  /an  excellent  specimen  of  the  Puritan 
character,  in  which  shrewdness  and  simplicity, 
•ambition  and  humility,  patience  and  activity, 
fervor  in  spirit  and  prudence  in  action,  were  so 
blended  or  so  admirably  balanced,  that  the 
minds  thus  actuated  possessed  a  decision  which 
rendered  them  invincible.  It  is  this  regulation 
of  the  passions  which  constitutes  that  self- 
control  so  necessary  to  freemen,  to  those  who 
govern  themselves  ;  yet  it  is  only  a  strong 
mind  that  is  ever  endowed,  in  an  eminent  de 
gree,  with  this  decision  ;  and  it  is  only  a  cul 
tivated  mind  that  makes  it  appear  amiable. 

*  But  it  sits  amiably  on  George  Torrey,  be 
cause  he  has  so  much  modesty  that  you  would 
not,  without  close  investigation,  imagine  him 
such  a  determined  character  ;  and  thus  his  ex 
traordinary  progress  is  attributed  more  to  his 
superior  industry  (which  excites,  you  know, 
but  little  envy)  than  to  his  superior  genius. 

1  It  is  gladdening  to  see  how  talents  will 
surmount  difficulties,  but  it  rejoices  me  more  to 
behold  their  triumph  over  temptations.  The 
youth  whom  I  mentioned  as  likely  to  prove  a 
formidable  rival  to  George  in  the  classical  race, 
is  a  fine  example  of  this  triumph.  He  is  from 
Virginia  ;  his  father,  as  I  understand,  is  a  very 
rich  man,  one  of  the  proud  aristocracy  of  that 
proud  State.  Robert  Simonds  lias,  therefore, 
been  from  infancy  accustomed  to  every  indul 
gence  and  elegance  that  wealth  can  purchase, 
and  all  that  adulation  that  follows  prosperity 


164  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

and  high  rank.  But  this  flattery  has  not  ener 
vated  his  mind  ;  it  has  only  modified  his  man 
ners.  He  has  all  that  boldness  of  imagination, 
that  brilliancy  of  genius,  that  is  elicited  by  cul 
ture  and  commendation.  1  do  not  think  he  has 
more  confidence  in  his  own  powers,  more  of 
what  we  will  call  pride,  than  George  Torrey 
has  ;  and  yet  his  display  of  himself  is  so  very 
different,  that  a  stranger  would  call  one  haugh 
ty,  the  other  humble.  The  original  constitution 
of  the  minds  of  these  young  men  was  doubtless 
very  similar  ;  had  the  children  been  changed 
in  their  cradles,  as  fairy  stories  have  whilom 
related  possible,  they  would  probably  with  their 
names  have  completely  changed  characters. 
There  is,  however,  always  a  sympathy  between 
such  spirits,  unless  jealouSy  of  each  other's  at 
tainments  should  keep  them  aloof, — but  this 
jealousy  Robert  is  too  noble  to  indulge  towards 
one,  who,  like  George  Torrey,  (I  have  related 
to  Robert  the  whole  history  of  his  rival,)  is 
struggling  for  an  education  as  the  means  of 
support ;  and  on  the  other  hand,  the  principles 
of  George  are  too  well  regulated  to  permit  him 
to  harbor  jealousy  or  envy  against  any  person. 
So  these  youths  are  already  warm  friends,  and 
I  encourage  the  intimacy,  because  I  think  they 
will  reap  a  mutual  advantage  from  the  inter 
course.  1  admire  to  see  them  sitting  side  by 
side,  at  their  recitations,  or  walking  arm  in  arm 
to  their  recreations, — there  has  been  such  a 
contrast  in  their  brief  histories,  and  yet  there  is 
such  a  similarity  in  their  feelings,  that  it  affords 
much  food  for  my  philosophy,  to  trace  the  caus- 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  165 

es  which  have  thus  brought  the  mind  of  one 
nursed  in  the  lap  of  luxury,  and  that  of  a  poor 
parish  child  on  a  perfect  level.  These  causes 
must  be  sought  in  our  free  institutions,  in  that 
perfect  equality  of  birth  which  our  laws  declare 
to  be  fixed  in  the  nature  of  things,  and  there 
fore  unchangeable.  While  our  constitution 
remains  inviolate  in  this  article,  neither  the 
corruptions  of  luxury,  nor  the  debasements  of 
poverty,  will  ever  degrade  the  minds  of  our 
countrymen  to  an  extent  that  shall  have  much 
perceptible  effect  on  public  morals,  or  render 
precarious  the  preservation  of  our  freedom  ;  be 
cause  there  will  be  a  redeeming  influence  in 
the  talents  and  virtue,  that  our  impartial  insti 
tutions  will  call  forth  from  both  extremes  of  our 
population — the  rich  and  the  poor.  Equality 
of  birth,  and  the  necessity  of  universal  educa 
tion,  are  principles  never  before  recognised  or 
acted  upon  by  any  government  ;  till  these  are 
relinquished,  our  republic  is  safe.  They  may 
tell  of  the  corruption  of  statesmen  and  the  vio 
lence  of  party,  but  the  majority  will,  after  all, 
go  right  ;  and  though  vice  and  ignorance  may 
sometimes  be  exalted,  yet  open  admiration  and 
unhesitating  suffrage  Avill  not  be  given  except 
to  intelligence  and  virtue.  These  thoughts 
have  been  forced  upon  me  while  reflecting  upon 
the  favorable  influence  which  the  principle  of 
equality  has  had  on  my  two  favorite  pupils. 

'  It  has  stimulated  them  both  to  exertion,  and 
will  probably  be  the  means  of  making  them  or 
naments  to  their  country.  It  taught  Robert  Si- 
monds  that  his  father's  rank  and  wealth  could 


166  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

never  be  his  passport  to  high  consideration, — 
he  must  himself  deserve  the  fame  he  coveted. 
It  encouraged  the  destitute  orphan,  while  toil 
ing  for  his  bread,  to  cultivate  those  talents  he 
felt  he  possessed,  by  showing  that  the  prize 
was  within  his  reach.  It  has  thus  directed 
and  impelled  two  minds  of  uncommon  powers 
to  the  attainment  of  knowledge  and  the  love  of 
excellence,  that  appear  likely  to  qualify  them  for 
extensive  usefulness  ;  and  thus,  if  we  do  not 
subscribe  to  the  opinion  that  ignorance  is  bliss, 
we  must  believe  the  sum  of  human  happiness 
is  proportionably  increased. 

'  I  am  told  that  there  are  some,  even  in  our 
republican  land,  who  attach  great  importance 
to  a  pedigree,  and  imagine  a  kind  of  refinement 
of  blood  is  imparted  to  the  individual  whose 
ancestors  have,  for  two,  or  three  generations, 
laid  by  their  working  dresses.  I  should  like  to 
have  such  title-loving  people  look  upon  my 
specimen  of  nobility  and  of  peasantry.  They 
would  feel  proud  of  both.  Robert  Simonds 
commands  attention,  and  George  Torrey  en 
gages  it.  No  person  can  behold  either  with 
indifference.  They  positively  are  the  finest 
looking  young  men  I  ever  saw.  I  often  exam 
ine  their  features  to  decide  which  of  the  two  is 
the  handsomest,  but  I  never  yet  could.  Still 
there  is  no  resemblance  between  them,  except 
that  their  height  is  the  same.  The  figure  of 
George,  though  perfectly  proportioned,  shows 
the  strength  of  bones  and  sinews  that  have 
been  '  strung  by  toil.'  Robert  is  more  slender 
in  form,  and  the  richness  and  nicety  of  his  ap* 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  167 

par  el,  combine  to  give  him  an  air  of  effemina 
cy,  especially  if  you  regard  his  hand,  which  a 
lady  might  envy  ;  it  is  so  small,  taper-fingered 
and  delicate.  George,  on  the  contrary,  is  al 
ways  plainly  arrayed,  and  his  hand,  you  know, 
is  enlarged  by  exercise,  and  hardened  by  the 
plough.  But  the  moment  you  look  in  his  face, 
you  forget  that  labor  has  any  effect  but  to 
beautify.  His  active  employment  has  strength 
ened  his  constitution,  and  imparted  such  a  fine, 
healthy  glow  to  his  complexion,  that  it  really 
makes  one  feel  younger  and  happier  to  gaze 
upon  him  ;  even  his  midnight  vigils  cannot  de 
stroy  his  bloom.  But  Robert  will  do  to  enact 
the  '  pale  student,'  except  when  his  spirit  is 
kindled,  and  then  the  blood  rushes  to  his  face 
till  his  cheeks  are  died  like  scarlet.  When 
ever  I  see  Robert  alone,  I  always  think  black 
is  much  the  most  beautiful  color  for  the  eye, — 
that  such  have  the  most  expression — the  most 
soul.  But  the  moment  George  enters,  his  bright 
blue  eyes,  flashing  with  the  consciousness  of 
ideas,  or  animated  with  eagerness  to  gain 
them,  I  alter  my  opinion, — or  at  least,  I  think 
the  color  of  the  eye  is  of  no  consequence.  In 
short  I  am,  as  you  have  doubtless  discovered, 
enthusiastic  in  my  admiration  and  my  expec 
tations  from  both  these  young  men.' 

It  is  not  my  purpose  to  describe  minutely 
the  progress  of  George  Torrey,  and  the  ex 
ertions  he  used  while  obtaining  his  education. 
The  four  years  passed, — he  had  struggled 
with  many  discouragements,  and  spent  many 
melancholy  hours,  but,  aided  by  the  counsels 


163  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

of  his  old  friend  Mr.  Dorr,  and,  whenever  he 
would  accept  it,  by  more  tangible  tokens  of 
regard  from  his  young  friend  Robert  Simonds, 
and  always  exerting  his  own  abilities  to  the  ut 
most  to  help  himself,  George  had  succeeded. 
The  '  poor  scholar,'  had  won  the  highest  hon 
ors  of  the  college.  The  '  Valedictory'  was  the 
part  assigned  him  in  the  exercises  of  the  day  ; 
he  would  willingly  have  relinquished  it  in  favor 
of  his  friend  ;  indeed,  he  declared  that  of 
right  Robert  Simonds  should  have  had  it  ;  but 
that  generous  young  man  replied  ; — '  I  do  not 
pretend,  George,  to  disclaim  all  ambition  to 
have  that  appointment ;  it  would  have  gratified 
my  vanity,  but  it  is  not  essential  to  my  inter 
est.  If  I  have,  as  you  kindly  intimate,  the 
learning  that  would  entitle  me  to  it,  all  I  need 
is  obtained  ;  but  to  you,  my  friend,  it  may  be 
of  more  benefit.  Honor  may  be  profit  J  contin 
ued  he  smiling, '  and  though  your  independence 
of  spirit  has  given  me  trouble  enough,  yet  I 
admire  it,  and  hope  that  the  time  is  not  far  dis 
tant  when  you  will  bask  in  the  smiles  of  for 
tune.' 

'  Yes,  but  then  I  must  lose  those  of  my 
friend,'  replied  George.  '  O,  this  is  a  sad 
world  I  think,  since  the  saddest  of  all  poets  so 
often  expresses  my  feelings, 

'  Our  very  \yishes,  give  us  not  our  wish  !' 

That  is  now  precisely  applicable  to  my  mind  ; 
I  have  often  thought,  that  could  I  reach  the 
station  in  my  class,  which  I  may  at  this  moment 
call  mine,  I  should  be  perfectly  blessed.  But 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  169 

after  this  pageant  of  vain  glory,  this  commence 
ment  is  over,  then  will  come  the  real  sorrow, 
the  parting  with  you.' 

'  Why  need  we  part  ?'  asked  Robert.  i  Why 
will  you  not  conclude  to  accompany  me  to  the 
South  ;  my  father — ah,  I  see  the  haughty  curl 
on  your  lip,  giving  its  veto  against  dependence. 
You  must  earn  your  own  livelihood.  You  may 
do  that  in  Virginia  as  conveniently  as  here. 
Nothing  will  be  easier  than  to  find  employment 
as  an  instructor.  I  will  write  and  recommend 
you  to  some  of  the  first  families;  after  they  are 
acquainted  with  you,  no  recommendation  will 
be  necessary.  My  parents  will  make  the  com 
panion  of  their  son  as  welcome  as  a  relative. 
We  have  warm  hearts  for  our  friends,  George, 
and  some  lovely  girls  too,  that  will,  I  hope, 
make  your  heart  warm. 

"  Were  you  with  these,  my  friend,  you'd  soon  forget 
The  pale,  unripeiied  beauties  of  the  North."  ' 

(  I  always  understood  that  bloom  and  bril 
liancy  of  complexion,  were  on  the  side  of  our 
northern  beauties,'  said  George. 

1  But  you  will  find,  according  to  the  quotation 
I  have  just  made,  and  indeed  from  the  whole 
speech  of  the  old  Numidian  Chief,  that  such  a 
conclusion  must  be  erroneous.  You  are  an 
excellent  critic  on  facts,  and  if  you  think  Addi- 
son  committed  a  blunder  in  placing  his  "  glow 
ing  dames"  beneath  a  vertical  sun,  you  ought 
to  expose  him.  This  you  may  have  an  oppor 
tunity  of  doing  if  you  will  only  go  with  me. 
15 


170  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Virginia  is  sufficiently  far  to  the  southward  to 
commence  your  observations.  Will  you  go  ?' 

1  In  the  course  of  a  year,  perhaps  ; — if  you 
still  desire  it,'  replied  George. 

Robert  did  continue  to  desire  it,  and  in  less 
than  a  twelvemonth,  George  Torrey  found  him 
self  domesticated  in  the  family  of  Judge  Si- 
monds,  one  of  the  most  distinguished  men  of 
Virginia.  George  had  anticipated  much  plea 
sure  as  well  as  improvement  from  the  conversa 
tion  of  the  old  Judge,  whom  his  son  had  repre 
sented  as  very  eloquent,  and  intelligent,  and 
communicative.  His  mother  too,  in  the  opinion 
of  Robert,  was  the  very  best  woman  in  the 
world.  He  had  said  but  little  of  his  sister — very 
little, — never  had  shown  George  any  of  her  let 
ters,  nor  endeavoured  to  excite  his  curiosity 
about  her.  George  knew,  to  be  sure,  that  Rob- 
ter  had  a  sister  Delia,  and  he  thought  she  had  a 
very  pretty  name  for  a  pastoral  poem,  and  that 
was  all  he  had  thought  of  her  till  he  was  in 
troduced  to  her.  But  he  soon  had  many  other 
thoughts.  If  there  is  a  young  man  who  has  lov 
ed,  tenderly  and  truly,  and  loved  too,  one  who  he 
fancied  would  think  herself  above  his  sphere — 
loved  in  doubt  and  almost  in  despair,  he  will 
very  easily  divine  the  meditations  of  my  hero. 
He  will  know  why  George  trembled  to  meet 
Delia,  and  sighed  to  leave  her  ;  why  his  pulse 
quickened  at  her  name,  and  why  his  heart  and 
his  brain  throbbed  when  any  other  man  ap 
proached  her.  Why  he  watched  for  her  smile 
as  though  it  were  a  law  to  guide  him  ;  and  why 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  171 

every  word  she  spoke  he  considered  important, 
and  worth  treasuring. 

And  if  there  be  a  beautiful  young  lady,  who 
has  seen  she  was  beloved  by  a  man  of  worth, 
of  mind,  intelligence  and  refinement, — one 
whom  she  was  satisfied  would  ever  be  to  her 
that  kind,  constant,  judicious  friend,  which  wo 
man  so  much  needs  to  guide  and  support  her 
through  '  this  world's  rough  wilderness  ;'  if  she 
has  felt  gratitude  for  her  lover's  preference  of 
her,  and  esteem  for  his  character,  increasing 
with  every  interview  ;  if  she  has  blushed  to 
name  him,  trembled  lest  her  partiality  should  be 
suspected, — watched  for  his  coming,  and  yet 
faltered  while  attempting  to  welcome  him,  she 
may  be  sure  her  sensations  have  been  very  sim 
ilar  to  those  felt  by  Delia  Simonds,  after  a  few 
months  acquaintance  with  George  Torrey. 

Why  cannot  reason  and  education  free  the 
mind  from  the  dominion  of  prejudice  ?  Rob 
ert  Simonds  knew  the  worth  and  talents  of 
George  Torrey,  and  he  loved  him  like  a  broth 
er.  To  have  him  marry  Delia,  had  long  been 
his  favorite  wish.  He  saw  their  mutual  affec 
tion,  therefore,  with  joy,  and  his  favorable  re 
presentations  had  induced  Judge  Simonds  to 
treat  the  young  New-Englander  with  a  par 
tiality  that  was,  at  least,  flattering. 

George  had  been  permitted  to  hope,  and  but 
one  circumstance  prevented  Robert  from  ac 
knowledging,  with  pride,  the  favored  of  his  sis 
ter.  Some  of  the  young  Southern  gentlemen 
had  doubted  the  courage  of  the  Yankee,  doubt 
ed  whether  he  would  have  the  spirit  to  resent 


172  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

an  insult  like  a  gentleman,  to  accept  a  chal 
lenge  if  sent  him,  and  these  doubts  had  reached 
the  ears  of  Robert.  He  did  not  mention  them 
to  George  ;  he  knew  his  principles  on  the  sub 
ject,  and  he  perfectly  agreed  with  him  that  to 
fight  a  duel,  when  not  to  fight  was  considered 
a  disgrace,  was  no  test  of  courage,  but  rather 
a  proof  of  moral  cowardice.  But  reasoning 
and  feeling  are  very  different  things.  Robert 
did  feel  sensitive  on  this  point  ;  he  did  wish  to 
have  the  fame  of  George  established,  have 
him  deemed  a  man  of  honor, — (That  honor 
which  may  be  claimed  by  the  veriest  villain  on 
earth,  if  he  only  is  a  good  shot  and  has  killed 
his  adversary.) 

There  was  in  the  neighbourhood  a  gentleman, 
so  styled,  who  had  offered  himself  to  Delia  Si- 
monds,  and  been  rejected.  This  circumstance 
created  no  surprise  with  those  who  were  ac 
quainted  with  the  parties,  for  Arnold  Dixon  was 
very  ugly  in  person,  and  disagreeable  in  man 
ners,  such  a  being  as  no  lady  could  love,  and 
Miss  Simonds  would  never  marry  for  riches. 
But  riches,  especially  if  joined  with  a  certain 
assurance,  will  often  keep  a  man  in  a  station 
to  which  neither  his  mind  or  morals  entitle  him. 
Arnold  Dixon  was  thus  by  sufferance  allow 
ed  to  mingle  in  good  society  ;  yet  he  knew  he 
was  disliked,  indeed,  detested  by  the  ladies, 
and  he  grew  cross,  and  envious  of  every  gen 
tleman  younger,  or  handsomer  than  himself. 
George  Torrey  especially  he  hated,  and  it  was 
from  him  that  the  insinuations  against  the 
character  of  the  Yankee  mostly  originated. 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  173 

Robert  Simonds  despised  Dixon,  and  in 
tended  to  have  no  communication  with  him  ; 
but  they  happened  to  meet  one  day  at  a  dinner 
party,  and  Dixon,  when  warmed  with  wine, 
threw  out  reflections  against  the  northern  peo 
ple,  mingled  with  such  innuendoes  against 
George  Torrey,  that  Robert's  blood  was  up  in 
a  moment,  and  he  repelled  the  charges  with 
such  terms  of  scorn,  as  provoked  his  adver 
sary  to  fresh  accusations,  till  finally  the  com 
pany  interposed,  and  insisted  that  the  affair 
should  be  postponed  to  a  more  fitting  time  and 
place. 

Burning  with  indignation  against  Dixon,  and 
yet  angry  with  himself  for  suffering  the  low 
malice  of  such  a  man  to  disturb  him,  Robert 
Simonds  retired  from  the  party.  He  knew 
that,  according  to  the  code  of  honor,  some  ex 
pressions  Dixon  had  used,  must  be  considered 
too  offensive  to  be  borne  by  an  honorable  man  ; 
that  a  challenge  was  expected  to  ensue  ;  and 
since  the  affair  must  proceed,  he  thought  he 
would  turn  it  to  the  best  account  possible. 
He  argued  that  if  George  Torrey  would  con 
sent  to  be  his  second,  it  would  in  a  great  meas 
ure  establish  his  reputation,  because  he  would 
be  found  to  act  with  decision  and  spirit,  as  he 
always  did  in  the  prosecution  of  any  plan  he 
thought  sanctioned  by  principle.  In  short,  he 
knew  George  was  possessed  of  that  daring,  de 
termined  courage,  that  would,  at  the  call  of 
his  country,  or  in  defence  of  freedom,  have 
prompted  him  to  solicit  the  post  of  danger,  to 
stand  in  the  '  imminent,  deadly  breach,'  or  lead 


174  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

the  forlorn  hope.  But  he  knew,  also,  that 
George  regarded  duelling  and  its  laws  with 
abhorrence  and  contempt  ;  that  he  thought  it 
degrading  to  a  civilized  man,  and  horrible  for  a 
Christian,  to  engage  or  be  concerned  in  an 
affair  of — murder. 

'  And  yet,'  said  Robert  to  himself, l  he  cannot, 
under  all  the  circumstances,  refuse  to  be  my 
second  in  this  affair,  and  that  will  satisfy  the 
world  of  his  courage.  0,  if  his  firmness  of 
mind  was  only  known,  his  courage  would  nev 
er  be  doubted.' 

I  You   intend   to    challenge    Dixon  ?'    said 
George  Torrey,   after  he  had  listened  to  his 
friend's  story. 

I 1  do — I  must.     You   smile,   and  I  know 
your  opinion,  and  I  know  it  is  right, — but  we 
must,  while  we  live  in  the  world,  be  guided  by 
the  customs  of  society.     Who  can  endure  the 
"  dread  laugh"  of  derision,  that  among  us  fol 
lows  the  man,  who  is  pointed  at  as  a  coward  ? 
I  cannot,  I  will  not,  let  the  consequences  be 
what  they  may,  I  shall  challenge  Dixon.     I 
know  he  is  a  mean  villain, — I  despise  him  ; 
and  yet  I  shall  give  him  a  chance  to  acquire 
honor  to  himself  by  killing  me.     I  shall  do 
this  jn  obedience  to  custom, — to  a  custom  that 
I  condemn,  and  wish  was  annihilated, — But  I 
shall    follow    it    notwithstanding.     Will  you, 
George,  be  my  second  ?' 

The  discussion  that  followed  cannot  be  giv 
en  at  length,  but  the  conclusion  was,  that 
George  Torrey,  finding  he  could  not  reason 
his  friend  out  of  the  belief  that  there  existed 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  175 

no  necessity  for  the  duel,  determined  to  take 
the  quarrel  and  the  danger  on  himself. 

'  If,'  said  George,  '  this  affair  cannot  be 
overlooked  without  incurring  disgrace,  I  will 
send  the  challenge.  The  matter  properly  be 
longs  to  me.  It  was  my  section  of  the  coun 
try  that  was  vilified  ;  it  was  me  he  intended  to 
insult.  You  generously  defended  me  at  the 
table  when  I  was  absent  ;  but  that  is  no  reason 
why  you  should  fight  for  me  when  I  am  pres 
ent.  I  repeat  it, — if  there  must  be  a  challenge 
I  will  send  it,  and  you  may  act  as  my  second.' 

This  arrangement  was  finally  adopted.  Ro 
bert  felt  some  compunctious  visitings  of  con 
science  while  the  challenge  was  penning  ;  but 
he  was  so  anxious  to  have  his  friend,  his  fu 
ture  brother,  considered  a  man  of  honor,  that 
he  felt  glad  the  affair  was  to  be  so  decided. 
He  knew  George  was  an  excellent  marksman, 
and  cool  in  spirit,  and  had  the  perfect  com 
mand  of  his  muscles.  Dixon  too,  was  expert 
at  shooting,  but  he  was  often  intoxicated  either 
with  passion  or  liquor,  and — who  can  answer 
for  the  thoughts  of  his  heart  when  under  the 
dominion  of  violent  prejudice  ?  thousands  have 
been  as  culpable  as  was  Robert  Simonds,  when 
he  eagerly  anticipated  seeing  Arnold  Dixon 
weltering  in  his  blood,  slain  by  the  hand  of 
George  Torrey. 

What  did  George  Torrey  anticipate  ?  He 
did  not  dare  reflect  on  all  the  consequences 
that  might  be  the  result  of  this  rash  affair.  He 
thought  it  his  duty  to  send  the  challenge  and 
meet  the  foe,  rather  than  permit  Robert  to 


176  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

fight.  But  he  hoped  the  matter  would  be  ac 
commodated  ;  that  Dixon  would  decline,  as  he 
might,  without  the  imputation  of  cowardice,  by 
alleging  that  he  had  not  intended  to  insult  the 
party  who  challenged.  And  then  George  flat 
tered  himself  a  little  discussion  would  satisfy 
all  parties. 

But  George  was  disappointed  ;  for  Dixon 
not  only  accepted  his  invitation  to  '  meet  him, 
&c.  on  the  ensuing  morning,'  but  he  exultingly 
added,  that  he  wished  to  have  the  affair  de 
cided  immediately  ;  that  he  had  a  friend  with 
him,  and  they  would  be  on  the  spot  in  half  an 
hour,  where  '  all  preliminaries,  &c.  might  be 
easily  settled.' 

*  He  is  drunk,'  said  Robert,  his  eyes  flash 
ing  with  joy  ;  '  your  victory  is  secure.' 

'  My  escape  may  be  more  probable,'  replied 
George.  '  I  will  meet  him,  and  stand  his  shot 
as  your  code  of  honor  directs  ;  but  I  will  not 
return  his  fire.  I  risk  my  own  life  to  satisfy 
what  I  consider  a  wicked  prejudice  ;  but  I  will 
not  risk  having  the  blood  of  a  humari  being 
upon  my  conscience.' 

The  two  friends  proceeded,  arm  in  arm,  to 
wards  the  place  of  appointment.  They  walk 
ed  in  silence,  both  wrapped  in  different,  but 
painful  reflections.  They  had  nearly  reached 
the  spot,  when  George,  pressing  the  arm  of 
his  friend,  said  in  a  low,  but  distinct  tone — 
<  Robert,  if  I  fall,  say  to  Delia—' 

'  You  will  not  fall,  you  shall  not,'  interrupt 
ed  the  other,  impetuously.  '  George,  I  fear  I 
have  done  wrong  in  this  business — I  have  been 


THE  POOR  SCHOLAR.  177 

too  sensitive,  too  hasty.  If  you  are  injured, 
I  shall  never  forgive  myself.  But  you  shall 
stand  only  one  shot  ;  if,  when  Dixon  finds  you 
are  determined  not  to  return  his  lire,  he  does 
not  then  feel  satisfied,  I  will  fight  him,  and  I 
will  return  his  fire.  Do  not  give  me  any  fare 
well  messages,  I  cannot  hear  such  melancholy 
things.' 

They  reached  the  spot ;  an  accommodation 
was  proposed  to  Dixon,  if  he  would  disclaim 
the  intention  of  insulting  George  ;  but  this  he 
would  not  do,  and  he  ended  with  some  sneer 
ing  remarks  about  the  Yankees  that  made 
Robert's  blood  boil,  but  which/had  it  not  been 
for  the  feelings  of  his  friend,  George  would  no 
more  have  heeded  than  the  idle  wind. 

The  ground  was  measured,  and  they  took 
their  stations. 

I  You  can  kill  him  George,'  whispered  Rob 
ert  Simonds. 

I 1  shall  not  attempt  it,'  replied  George.     £  I 
am  not  seeking  revenge.' 

4  But  you  ought  to  endeavour  to  preserve 
your  own  life.' 

*  Then  I  ought  not  to  have  come  here.  But 
this  is  idle  now.  Give  the  word.' 

The  word  was  given — Dixon  fired — and 
George  Torrey  fell.  Robert  sprung  to  him, 
raised  him — a  stream  of  blood  gushed  from  his 
right  side.  '  It  is  all  over,'  said  George  faint 
ly,  as  he  recovered  a  little  from  the  first  shock. 
'I  am  dying.  I  must  leave  the  world  just  as  it 
begins  to  smile  upon  me.  I  must  leave  Delia 
and  you.  0  !  I  have  lately  dreamed  of  great 


178  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

things — I  have  thought  that,  hlcssed  with  De 
lia's  love  and  your  friendship,  I  should  use  such 
exertions — I  should  be  co  indefatigable,  that 
success  would  be  mine.  But  it  is  all  over — I 
must  die  before  I  have  done  anything — I  must 
die  and  be  forgotten — Die  as  the  fool  dieth.' 

'  0  !  George,  George,'  said  Robert,  with 
tears  flowing  fast  down  his  cheeks — '  What 
shall  I  do  ?  How  shall  I  comfort  Delia  ?  Why 
did  I  allow  you  to  send  the  challenge  ?' 

George  attempted  to  reply,  but  the  effort 
overcame  him,  and  they  thought  him  dying. 
But  he  revived  again,  and  was  conveyed  to 
the  house  of  Judge  Simonds.  He  lingered 
twelve  hours,  and  during  most  of  the  time,  was 
able  to  converse. 

George  Torrey  was  laid  in  the  family  vault 
of  Judge  Simonds,  and  before  the  year  had  ex 
pired,  Delia  slept  beside  her  lover.  Robert 
Simonds,  agitated  with  grief  for  the  loss  of  his 
friend,  and  indignation  against  Dixon,  could 
hardly  be  said  to  be  in  possession  of  his  reason, 
when,  three  days  after  the  burial  of  George, 
he  challenged  his  murderer  to  meet  him.  Dix 
on  was  so  elated  with  his  success  over  poor 
George,  that  he  exultingly  accepted  the  chal 
lenge  of  Robert.  They  met  ;  and  at  the  first 
discharge,  Dixon  was  shot  through  the  heart. 

Robert  Simonds  still  lives,  but  he  is  a  mel 
ancholy,  misanthropic  being.  Alone  in  the 
world,  and  continually  brooding  over  the  mem 
ory  of  those  dear  friends  he  accuses  himself 
of  destroying. 


THE   SPRINGS. 


* She  had  marked 

The  silent  youth,  and  with  a  beauty's  eye 

Knew  well  she  was  beloved  ;  and  though  her  light 

And  bounding  spirit  still  was  wild  and  gay, 

And  sporting  in  the  revel,  yet  her  hours 

Of  solitude  were  visited  by  him 

Who  looked  with  such  deep  passion.' 

PERCIVAL. 

IT  was  in  July,  1818,  that  Emily  Wood  worth 
made  her  debut  at  Saratoga.  She  came  ac 
companied  by  her  guardian,  Mr.  Chapman,  and 
his  wife.  Mrs.  Chapman  was  a  dyspeptic,  ner 
vous  and  very  particular  lady.  In  her  youth 
she  had  been  a  celebrated  beauty,  and  still  felt 
all  that  thirst  for  personal  admiration  which 
had  once  been  so  lavishly  bestowed  upon  her 
charms.  But  alas  !  for  the  woman  who  has 
passed  her  tenth  lustre  and  yet  has  no  claim  to 
the  attentions  of  society,  save  what  personal 
beauty  imparts.  Such  women  have  always  a 
horror  of  being  thought  at  all  acquainted  with 
Time — that  unfashionable  old  gentleman  is  en 
tirely  excluded  from  their  conversation,  and  any 
allusion  to  him,  they  deem,  in  their  presence, 
impertinent.  It  was  always  with  a  look  which 
seemed  intended  to  petrify  the  speaker,  that 


180  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Mrs.  Chapman  heard  her  increasing  infirmi 
ties  attributed  to  increasing  years  ;  she  wished 
to  be  thought  young,  and  yet  she  had  neither 
health  nor  inclination  for  the  gayeties  of  youth  ; 
and  so  she  eagerly  condemned  all  pleasures  in 
which  she  could  not  participate,  as  vain,  frivo 
lous  or  unfashionable.  In  short  she  was  al 
ways  of  the  opinion  that  those  amusements, 
which  were  inconvenient  or  unsuitable  for  her, 
were  either  very  vulgar  or  very  sinful. 

Mr.  Chapman  was  an  industrious  mechanic, 
a  carpenter  by  trade  ;  but  he  had  an  inventive 
genius,  and  a  persevering  temper  ;  and  had 
generally  succeeded  in  his  plans  and  projects, 
till  finally  he  had  become  not  only  the  archi 
tect,  but  proprietor  of  several  mills  and  one 
large  cotton  manufactory  ;  and  partly  by  labor, 
partly  by  lucky  speculation,  had  accumulated 
a  large  fortune.  He  was  a  thorough  Yankee, 
shrewd,  sensible  and  somewhat  sarcastic  ;  at 
least  his  ready  repartees,  and  the  knowledge  of 
characters  and  circumstances  they  frequently 
implied,  made  his  wit  often  feared  by  those  who 
felt  conscious  of  follies  or  faults  they  did  not 
wish  exposed.  Yet  he  was  a  good  natured 
man,  as  the  uniform  forbearance,  and  even  pity 
with  which  he  listened  to  the  peevishness  and 
complaints  of  his  wife,  and  his  constant  kind 
ness  in  his  own  family,  and  the  cordial  civility 
with  which  he  treated  his  friends,  except  when 
an  occasion  for  a  good  joke  occurred,  sufficient 
ly  testified. 

Emily  Woodworth — but  I  will  not  introduce 
her  formally,  by  telling  her  height,  or  describ- 


TUB  SPRINGS.  181 

ing  her  features,  or  noting  the  color  of  her 
complexion,  eyes,  lips  and  hair.  Take  a  pen, 
fair  reader,  look  in  the  mirror,  and  then  try 
the  sketch  yourself.  But  be  sure  and  make 
Emily  as  handsome  as  your  beau  ideal  of  fe 
male  loveliness,  or  I  shall  in  future  draw  my 
own  heroines.  And  yet  it  is  a  task  in  which 
few  succeed.  The  artist,  proud  of  being  com 
plimented  with  possessing  the  skill  of  a  Van- 
dike  in  delineating  the  countenances  of  men, 
will  find  it  extremely  difficult,  if  not  impossible, 
to  paint  the  likeness  of  a  beautiful  woman. 
To  be  successful  he  must  embody  sense,  spirit 
and  modesty  in  that  just  proportion  which  shall 
give  the  idea  of  dignity  as  well  as  delicacy  to 
features  where  passion  has  left  no  record  ;  and 
he  must  impart  meaning  and  expression  to  the 
'  smoothness  and  sheen'  of  a  face  where  nei 
ther  the  ambition  of  pride  or  energy  of  thought 
have  stamped  any  predominating  faculty  of 
soul.  This  task  can  only  be  accomplished  by 
one  skilled  in  reading  the  heart  as  well  as 
drawing  the  head.  There  are  but  few  descrip 
tions  of  women,  even  in  our  best  poets  and 
novelists,  that  do  justice  to  the  female  cha 
racter.  The  mistake  is  that  mere  physical 
beauty,  harmony  of  features  and  a  fair  com 
plexion,  are  generally  represented  as  entitling 
their  possessor  to  the  appellation  of  amiable, 
interesting,  elegant,  Sec. — it  is  the  counte 
nance  which  is  supposed  to  give  a  tone  to  the 
mind,  not  that  the  mind  inspires  the  counte 
nance.  Such  a  mistake  would  never  be  made 
by  an  artist  who  was  painting  men.  Arid  while 


183 


AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 


such  a  mistake  is  cherished,  the  portraits  of 
women  will  never  be  well  executed.  They 
will  never  bear  the  impress  of  mind. 

Milton  was  a  little  skeptical  on  the  score  of 
female  understanding,  and  hardly  willing  to 
allow  the  sex  that  equality  of  reason  which  is 
now  pretty  generally  and  generously  too,  ac 
knowledged  by  all  civilized  men  ;  but  he  may 
be  pardoned,  considering  he  lived  in  an  age 
so  ignorant  that  even  his  own  peerless  genius, 
was  neglected  or  contemned,  (might  it  not  be 
a  retribution  for  the  injustice  he  did  the  ladies.) 
But  notwithstanding  the  prejudice  which  the 
bard  of  Paradise  sometimes  displayed,  he  has 
left  us  the  most  charming  description,  of  the 
effect  which  a  lovely,  virtuous  and  intelligent 
woman  has  over  the  minds  of  men,  that  is  to 
be  found  in  the  English  language. 

' Yet  when  I  approach 

Her  loveliness,  so  absolute  she  seems 
And  in  herself  complete,  so  well  to  know 
Her  own,  that  what  she  wills  to  do  or  say, 
Seems  wisest,  virtuousest,  discreetest,  best; 
All  higher  knowledge  in  her  presetice  falls. 
Degraded  wisdom  in  discourse  with  her 
Loses  discountenanced,  and  like  folly  shows  ; 
Authority  and  reason  on  her  wait, 
As  one  intended  first,  not  after  made 
Occasionally  ;  and  to  consummate  all, 
Greatness  of  mind,  and  nobleness  their  seat 
Build  in  her  loveliest,  and  create  an  awe 
About  her,  as  a  guard  angelic  placed.' 

What  a  lovely  picture  !  and  true — but  when 
was  the  conception  of  the  poet  ever  embodied 
by  the  painter  ?  And  there  is  also  another 
sweet  description,  in  Shakspeare,  of  a  woman, 
that  I  have  often  wished  to  see  transferred  to 
canvass — 


THE  SPRINGS.  183 

* . A  maiden  never  bold, 

Of  spirit  so  still  and  quiet,  that  her  motion 
Blushed  at  herself.' 

Who  does  not  recognise  in  that  sketch  of 
Desdemona,  the  being  of  soul — the  beautiful, 
modest,  intelligent  and  heroic  girl — who  pre 
ferred  her  lover  only  for  his  estimable  qualities 
of  character — 

*  1  saw  Othello's  visage  in  his  mind.' 

Emily  Woodworth  did  not  exactly  resemble 
either  of  these  portraits.  She  had  not  the 
majestic  loveliness  of  Milton's  Eve,  nor  all 
that  tender  yet  ardent  enthusiasm  which  we 
may  imagine  characterized  the  victim  bride  of 
the  Moor.  She  had  more  vivacity  than  either. 
But  there  was  usually  a  covert  humor  in  her 
glance  which  checked  the  freedom  her  gayety 
would  otherwise  have  inspired.  A  lover  would 
have  been  sadly  perplexed  to  decide  whether 
the  sweet  smile  that  so  often  dimpled  her  cheek 
was  for  him  or  at  him.  In  short  I  can  think 
of  no  heroine  that  Emily  so  much  resembled 
as  Ellen  Douglas  ;  especially  in  that  scene 
where  Fitz  James  so  gallantly  volunteered  to 
row  her  fairy  bark,  when 

'  The  maid  with  smile,  suppressed  and  sly, 
The  task  unwonted  saw  him  try.' 


But  Emily  Woodworth  had  a  guardian — Was 
she  rich  ?  No  matter.  The  gentleman  who 
is  prompted  to  make  the  inquiry  would  never 
have  deserved  her,  and  certainly  never  have 
obtained  her. 

i  We  will  take  lodgings  half  a  mile,  at  least, 
from  the  Springs,'  said  Mrs.  Chapman  to  her 


194  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

husband,  as  their  carriage  passed  in  sight  of 
the  crowd  assembled  around  the  Congress 
fountain.  '  I  am  sure,'  she  continued  as  her 
eye  rested  on  the  castle  like  fabric  of  Con 
gress  Hall,  at  that  time  the  largest  and  Air  the 
most  splendid  building  in  the  village,  '  I  am 
sure,  the  noise  and  bustle  of  that  house  must 
be  quite  shocking  to  persons  who  have  been 
accustomed  to  the  regular,  religious  and  lit 
erary  society  of  Connecticut.' 

1  1  was  intending  to  board  at  Union  Hull,' 
replied  Mr.  Chapman.  '  We  must  not  expect 
it  will  seem  exactly  as  quiet  and  regular  as  our 
own  home,  but  it  will  be  more  convenient  for 
us  than  remote  lodgings.  You,  Mrs.  Chapman, 
intend  to  drink  the  waters  ;  I  came  to  see  the 
folks,  and  JDmily  the  fashions,  and  I  think  that 
Union  house  there,  will  be  just  the  thing  for 
our  accommodation.  Congress  Hall  I  should 
like,  only  it  looks  as  if  it  would  draw  a  little  too 
largely  on  my  purse.' 

'  Do  you  know  what  kind  of  company  they 
have  at  the  Union  Hall  ?'  inquired  Mrs.  Chap 
man,  in  a  querulous  tone.  *  I  should  like  to 
be  with  civil,  well-bred  people,  not  among 
the  thoughtless  and  fantastic,  who  have  balls 
every  other  evening.  I  wisii  we  could  go  where 
our  own  friends  and  acquaintances  resort. 
The  Reverend  Mr.  Briley  and  his  lady  you 
know  started  a  few  days  before  us ;  and  then 
Colonel  Eastman  and  his  two  daughters  are 
here,  and  Squire  Ray  and  his  wife,  and  the 
widow  Post.' — 

'  Yes,  yes — there's  fbols  enough  from  Con- 


THE  SPRINGS.  185 

necticut  here  as  well  as  we,'  interrupted  Mr. 
Chapman  hastily — and  then  after  a  short  pause, 
during  which  his  good  natured  countenance 
exhibited  a  little  embarrassment  or  vexation, 
such  as  we  may  suppose  would  naturally  arise 
in  the  mind  of  a  thorough  man  of  business  who 
felt  himself,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  in  pur 
suit  of  that  pleasure  which  has  neither  definite 
name  nor  aim,  but  must  be  found  jostling 
among  a  crowd  of  strangers  in  a  strange  place, 
lie  added, — '  I  think,  Mrs.  Chapman,  we  have 
a  pretty  good  chance  of  seeing  Yankees  at 
home  ;  certainly  we  see  our  friends  often 
enough  there.  Now  I  should  like  to  be  ac 
quainted  with  some  of  the  southern  people, 
and  I  have  been  told  that  Union  Hall  was  fre 
quented  mostly  by  gentlemen  from  that  part  ot 
the  country.  Perhaps  I  may  learn  something 
about  the  management  of  cotton  that  will  be 
of  advantage  to  me  in  the  way  of  my  business  ; 
and  so,  if  you  please,  we  will  alight  here  and 
stay  a  few  days  at  least,' — and  he  stepped 
from  his  carriage,  while  a  waiter  instantly  at 
tended  to  ask  his  commands.  Mrs.  Chapman 
was  really  fatigued,  they  had  driven  a  long 
stage  that  morning,  it  was  almost  twelve,  and 
so  she  tacitly  assented  to  her  husband's  pro-  j 
position. 

They  were  soon  installed  in  a  pleasant 
apartment,  the  windows  commanding  a  view 
of  Congress  Hall,  with  its  stately  pillars  and 
airy  portico,  beneath  which  ladies  were  prome 
nading,  and  gentlemen  sauntering,  both  often 
pausing  in  their  walk,  as  if  charmed  by  the 
16 


18(5  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

sweet  music  that  came  at  intervals  from  the 
apartment  of  some  piano-loving  votary  within. 

Those  who  have  visited  Saratoga,  and  who 
has  not  ?  know  that  the  scenery  around  the 
village  makes  no  part  of  the  attractions  to  that 
celebrated  place.  It  is  the  Springs,  and  the 
crowd  that  sip  the  mineral  waters  that  are  the 
objects  of  curiosity.  Mrs.  Chapman  was  not 
much  mistaken  when,  a  few  days  after  her  ar 
rival,  she  declared  it  was  by  nature  the  most 
disagreeable  spot  she  ever  saw.  The  street, 
she  remarked,  was  always  dirt  or  dust,  (this 
was  ten  years  since,  perhaps  she  would  now 
report  differently,)  and  if  one  wished  to  walk 
out,  there  was  nothing  to  be  seen  in  any  direc 
tion  but  a  low  sunken  marsh  that  appeared  as 
if  it  had  never  been  drained  since  the  deluge 
And  then  for  the  ornament  of  the  grounds, 
there  was  only  stunted  firs  and  other  ever 
greens  all  looking  as  withered,  crooked  or 
sickly,  as  if  they  were  languishing  under  the 
curse  of  some  sibyl. 

The  contrast  was  indeed  very  striking  be~ 
twcen  Saratoga,  and  the  pleasant  walks  on  the 
banks  of  the  Connecticut.  There  the  turf  is  so 
smooth  and  green,  and  the  flowers  woo  you  at 
every  step,  and  the  broad  beautiful  trees  throw 
their  graceful  branches  abroad  as  if  rejoicing, 
like  a  beauty  surveying  her  image  in  a  mirror, 
to  see  their  shadow  on  the  green  sward  beneath. 
And  then  there  is  the  river,  diffusing  over  the 
wide  meadows  on  its  banks,  a  fertility  unsur 
passed  in  our  land  ;  and  the  fresh  invigorating 
breezes  from  the  pure  waters  and  green  hills, 


THE  SPRINGS.  187 

which,  if  they  cannot  restore  the  invalid  to 
health,  prevent  the  healthy  from  becoming  in 
valid.  Who  that  has  a  taste  for  the  beauties 
of  a  rich  landscape,  and  a  heart  attuned  to  the 
music  breathing  from  the  lovely  things  of  na 
ture,  but  would  prefer  a  ramble  on  the  banks 
of  the  Connecticut  to  a  promenade  beneath  the 
portico  of  Congress  Hall,  where  fashion  and 
frivolity  gather  their  votaries,  and  more  come 
to  have  their  dresses  admired  than  to  have 
their  diseases  healed  ? 

It  must  however  be  acknowledged,  that  much 
of  Mrs.  Chapman's,  disgust  and  disappoint 
ment  arose  from  the  circumstance  of  finding 
herself  but  an  unit  among  the  collection  of 
human  beings  assembled  around  the  Springs. 
She  would  have  indignantly  repelled  the  idea 
that  selfishness  was  always  her  predominating 
feeling,  yet  she  never  witnessed  an  exhibition 
of  any  Idnd,  or  listened  to  a  conversation,  with 
out  an  immediate  reference,  in  her  own  mind, 
to  the  effect  they  had,  or  might  have  on  her 
self — her  convenience,  happiness  or  impor 
tance. 

She  had,  at  an  expense  that  her  husband,  in 
dulgent  as  he  was,  called  highly  extravagant, 
prepared  for  her  own  appearance  at  the  springs 
in  a  manner  which  she  expected  would  secure 
her  instant  notice.  But,  alas!  she  saw  bonnets 
there  vastly  richer  than  hers,  arid  shawls  that 
made  her  sick  with  envy,  und  gowns  with  laces, 
flounces  and  trimmings,  which  she  decided 
were  absolutely  wicked — only  because  they  ex 
ceeded  the  standard  of  her  own  apparel. 


18S  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

'  It  is  an  odious  place  here,'  said  Mrs.  Chap 
man  to  her  husband,  as  he  entered  the  room 
where  she  and  Emily  were  sitting,  and  inquir 
ed  if  they  were  ready  to  accompany  him  to  drink 
the  waters.  '  These  southern  ladies  are  so 
stiff  and  formal,  and  as  silent  as  though  they 
had  always  been  accustomed  to  have  their  talk 
ing  as  well  as  work  done  by  the  poor  slaves. 
I  shall  not  join  them  in  the  drawing  room  again, 
nor  shall  I  go  to  the  Springs  this  morning. 
There  is  nothing  worth  seeing,  and  I  can  have 
the  water  brought  here  to  my  chamber.' 

i  But  you  know,  wife,  that  we  came  to  sec 
the  ways  of  the  world,  and  at  any  rate  I  mean 
to  look  about  me  while  I  stay.  We  might  just 
as  well  keep  at  home  as  confine  ourselves  to 
our  own  apartments  while  here.' 

£  Do  you  like  the  society  of  these  Southern 
ers  ?'  demanded  Mrs.  Chapman. 

1  Why,  yes,  pretty  well,  only  I  see  the  cotton 
growers  give  themselves  some  important  airs  ; 
but  that  is  because  they  do  not  yet  understand 
about  cotton  manufacturing.  I  have  endeavour 
ed  to  introduce  the  subject  as  often  as  possible, 
for  I  hope  the  mutual  benefit  we  derive  from 
each  other  will  be  the  means  of  establishing  a 
confidence  between  us.  However,  I  confess 
they  are  rather  reserved.' 

4  Reserved,  do  you  call  it,'  returned  Mrs. 
Chapman,  her  countenance  glowing  with  in 
dignation.  '  I  do  not  pretend  to  know  the 
character  of  the  men,  but  the  women  are  ab 
solutely  scornful.  It  was  only  yesterday  I 
made  some  inquiries  of  a  lady  respecting  her 


THE  SPRINGS.  189 

headdress,  and  she  answered  me  very  rudely. 
But  I  hope  I  mortified  her,  for  I  soon  after  re 
marked,  when  her  slave  came  to  wait  upon  her, 
that  I  would  not,  for  the  universe,  have  a 
negro  wench  tagging  after  me.' 

'  What  do  you  think  of  your  southern  sisters, 
Emily  ?'  inquired  Mr.  Chapman,  turning  to  his 
ward. 

£I  think,  sir,'  answered  the  smiling  girl,  'that 
they  exhibit  about  the  same  qualities  of  the 
heart  and  mind  our  northern  ladies  would  if 
placed  in  a  similar  situation.  The  difference 
of  customs,  and  customs  must  vary  with  cli 
mate,  and  education,  has  made  us  to  differ. 
They  complain  of  their  servants,  and  we  of  oui 
help.  They  talk  of  selling  the  blacks  because 
of  bad  behavior,  and  we  of  turning  away  our 
whiles  for  similar  faults.  It  is  true  in  a  circle 
of  Yankee  women,  there  would  be  more  at 
tempts  at  literary  conversation,  more  books 
mentioned  and  quotations — misapplied;  but 
then  these  ladies  here  have  a  kind  of  quietness 
in  their  manner,  a  natural  dignity  that  makes  the 
knowledge  they  do  possess,  appear  very  grace 
ful  ;  and  in  canvassing  fashions,  they  certainly 
have  the  advantage  of  us.  They  do  not  seem 
to  feel  it  necessary  to  make  the  expense  of  a 
thing  an  object  of  much  conversation.  Their 
remarks  are,  therefore,  more  general,  and  con 
sequently  do  not  appear  so  trifling  as  when 
every  yard  of  ribbon  or  lace  on  a  dress  is 
measured,  and  the  exact  cost  computed,  as  is 
frequently  the  case  among  us  in  discussions  on 
the  reigning  modes.  Do  not  think  I  advocate 


190  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

thoughtless  extravagance  ;  I  only  believe  we 
may  practice  economy  at  home,  without  con 
tinually  puffing  ourselves  for  our  management 
when  abroad.' 

<  Then  you  do  not  feel  disgusted  with  the  so 
ciety  here,  nor  intend  to  keep  your  chamber,' 
said  Mr.  Chapman. 

'  0,  no,  sir,  no,'  replied  Emily,  eagerly. 
'I  have  been  highly  amused  with  the  new 
scene  ;  a"nd  I  hope  to  reap  some  benefit,  some 
improvement  from  the  observations  I  cannot 
avoid  making.  I  certainly  feel  much  more  in 
terested  for  these  southern  ladies,  more  as  if 
we  are  indeed  of  one  country,  than  I  should 
have  done  had  we  never  met.' 

1  That,'  replied  Mr.  Chapman,  with  such 
earnestness,  such  unaffected  sincerity  of  man 
ner,  as  almost  made  his  plain,  practical  remarks 
appear  like  eloquence  ;  '  That  will,  I  trust,  be 
usually  the  consequence  when  Americans  have 
an  opportunity  of  mingling  together.  And  if 
these  mineral  waters  are  of  little  benefit  in  the 
restoration  of  health — I,  for  one,  think  their 
medicinal  virtues  are  vastly  overrated  ;  yet  they 
are  of  importance  in  promoting  an  intercourse, 
and  thus  strengthening  the  harmony  between 
the  different  sections  of  our  vast  country.  Peo 
ple  from  every  quarter,  will  here  meet  and  min 
gle,  and  become  acquainted  ;  prejudices  will 
be,  in  part,  overcome,  and  attachments  formed, 
till  we  shall  feel  we  have  friends,  and  therefore 
a  personal  interest  in  the  prosperity  of  every 
state  in  our  Union.' 

'  You  and  Emily  may  like  the  place  and  tho 


THE  SPRINGS.  191 

people  too,  if  you  choose,  but  I  detest  both  ;' 
said  Mrs.  Chapman. 

'  Why  should  you,  my  dear,  form  an  opinion 
so  different  from  Emily  on  this  subject  ?'  ask 
ed  her  husband. 

'  The  ladies  are  all  partial  to  Emily,'  replied 
the  wife,  peevishly.  4  They  converse  with  her 
freely,  but  they  avoid  me.' 

*  You  probably  treat  them  coldly,  and  take 
no  pains  to  remove  the  prejudices  they  may 
have  formed  against  the  Yankee  women.' 

'  I  care  nothing  for  their  prejudices,  Mr. 
Chapman.  I  shall  take  no  pains  to  gain  the 
favor  of  those  who  are  guilty  of  the  monstrous 
wickedness  of  holding  their  fellow  creatures  in 
slavery.  It  is  a  sin  in  which  I  would  not  par 
take  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  Indies  !' 

'  The  slave  system  is  wrong,  I  feel  as  well  as 
you,  and  an  unfortunate  thing  for  the  peace  and 
prosperity  of  our  country,'  said  Mr.  Chapman, 
seriously.  '  Yet  we  must  not  imagine,  that 
because  in  New  England  we  have  no  slaves, 
we  are  guilty  of  no  sins.  But  where  are  those 
lines  you  showed  me  the  other  day,  Emily  ? 
in  Burns,  I  think.' 

Emily  reached  the  book,  and  Mr.  Chapman 
read,  in  a  very  exalted  tone,  to  his  wife  : — 

'  O  !  wad  some  Power  the  giftie  gie  us, 

To  see  oursels  as  other  see  us, 

It  wad  frae  monie  a  blunder  free  us 

An'  foolish  notion  ; 
What  airs  in  eak  and  dress  could  lea'  us, 

And  e'en  devotion.' 

There,  that  verse  contains,  in  my  opinion,  a 
more  excellent  lesson  on  the  necessity  of  self- 


193  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

examination  and  humility  than  many  a  labored 
sermon.  Arid  now,  Mrs.  Chapman,  if  you  are 
not  intending  to  go  out  this  morning,  Emily 
and  I  will  walk  to  the  Springs.' 

Any  person  of  reflection,  who  watches  the 
movements  of  an  assembly  of  Americans,  col 
lected  even  on  their  »reat  festivals  of  rejoic 
ing,  will  be  convinced  that  the  pursuit  of  mere 
amusements  is  incompatible  with  the  feelings 
and  habits  of  the  people.  They  never  appear 
to  lay  aside  their  cares,  or  give  themselves  up 
to  the  enjoyment  of  the  present  pleasure. 
They  are  not  absorbed  by  the  scene,  show, 
or  pastime  ;  they  are  remarking,  reasoning, 
scheming.  There  is  a  restlessness  in  their 
movements,  (a  Yankee  rarely  sits  still  in  his 
chair,)  an  eagerness  in  their  inquiries  after 
news,  a  kind  of  impatience  as  if  they  felt  in  a 
hurry  even  when  they  know  they  have  nothing 
to  do.  They  are  like  travellers  who  are  look 
ing  forward  with  earnestness  to  the  next  stage 
in  their  journey,  and  feel  quite  unprepared  to 
rest  or  enjoy  themselves  by  the  way. 

But  to  see  this  locomotive  trait,  in  the  Amer 
ican  character,  in  full  activity,  go  to  Sara 
toga. 

Those  ladies  and  gentlemen  who  assemble 
there  to  pass  a  few  weeks  in  uninterrupted 
pleasure,  display  but  little  of  that  contented 
satisfaction  which  betokens  happiness.  They 
manifest  more  uneasiness  than  do  the  valetudi- 
larians,  because  the  latter  think  there  is  a  ne 
cessity,  a  reason  for  their  continuance  at  the 
Springs.  But  the  healthy  ones  are  in  a  con- 


THE  SPRINGS.  193 

slant  state  of  excitement  to  find  pleasure  which 
prevents  them  from  ever  enjoying  it.  They 
are  therefore  restless,  and  wishing  for  a  change 
of  weather  or  a  change  of  company,  or  to  visit 
other  places,  or  have  the  season  over  that  they 
may  return  home. 

*  I  don't  think,  Emily,'  said  Mr.  Chapman, 
as  they  crossed  the  street,  and  jostled  their  way 
amid  the  throng  that  were  hastening  to  the 
fountain,  l  though  I  will  not  find  fault  with  every 
thing  I  see,  as  my  wife  does,  yet  I  don't  think 
those  gentlemen  and  lad'ies  there  are  so  happy 
as  the  persons  I  left  at  work  in  my  factory. 
They  do  not  look  half  as  cheerful  and  gay. 
Indeed,  the  observations  I  have  made,  have 
convinced  me  that  employment,  some  kind  of 
business,  is  absolutely  necessary  to  make  men, 
or  at  least  our  citizens,  happy  and  respectable. 
This  trifling  away  of  time  when  there  is  so 
much  to  be  done,  so  many  improvements  ne 
cessary  in  our  country,  is  inconsistent  with  that 
principle  of  being  usefu-1,  which  every  repub 
lican  ought  to  cherish.  Now  I  never  pass 
through  a  place  without  looking  out  the  good 
building  spots,  nor  do  I  see  a  stream  of  water 
without  thinking  whether  it  has  a  good  site 
for  a  mill,  or  factory,  or  something  of  the  sort. 
But  here,  bless  me,  'tis  all  hurry  scurry  round 
to  gaze  at  the  wonders,  without,  I  fear,  think 
ing  at  all.  Away  they  go  to  lake  George,  and 
Ticonderoga,  and  perhaps  to  Niagara,  and 
then  to  their  billiard  tables,  balls  and  parties  ; 
and  after  all,  they  look  fatigued  and  miserably 
disappointed.  I  meet  with  but  few  that  pre- 
17 


194  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

tend  to  take  much  satisfaction  in  this  kind  of 
life,  they  only  say  it  is  necessary  as  a  relaxation 
— but  I  guess  they  will,  the  most  of  them,  be 
glad  when  they  are  safe  at  home  again.  I  cer 
tainly  shall  for  one.  Have  you,  Emily,  seen  an 
object  here  that  will  make  you  regret  leaving 
Saratoga  ?' 

The  question  was  asked  at  a  most  unlucky 
moment,  for  Emily,  on  looking  up  to  answer 
her  guardian,  beheld,  standing  almost  directly 
before  hen  his  dark,  penetrating  eyes  fastened 
on  her  faee  with  an  expression  of  admiration 
that  seemed  to  send  his  soul  in  the  glance,  a 
young  man  whom  she  had  for  several  preceding 
days  perceived  paying  her  the  homage  of  un 
ceasing,  yet  respectful,  attention,  whenever 
she  dared  note  him  at  all. 

Emily  Wood  worth  had  never  loved,  never 
seen  the  man  she  thought  she  could  love,  and 
she  did  not  think  of  loving  the  stranger  ; — she 
only  thought  that  he  resembled  her  brother 
who  had  died  at  college — that  dear  and  only 
brother  for  whom  she  had  shed  so  many  tears — 
and  she  wished  the  stranger  was  her  brother. 
There  was  no  harm  in  such  a  wish,  though  it 
was  a  little  romantic.  But  now  his  presence 
joined  with  her  guardian's  abrupt  question  to 
embarrass  her  excessively.  She  drew  her  veil 
as  closely  over  her  face  as  ever  did  a  Turkish 
lady,  and  declining  to  taste  the  waters,  stood 
with  her  eyes  fixed  on  the  fountain,  and  watch 
ed,  with  an  apparently  absorbing  interest,  the 
little  boys  that  then  officiated  to  draw  up  the 
bubbling  and  airy  liquid  which  was  eagerly 


THE  SPRINGS.  195 

drank  by  the  fashionable — for  fashion's  sake. 
She  did  not  turn  her  head,  though  she  knew 
the  young  stranger  was  beside  her  and  expect 
ed  he  was  watching  for  an  opportunity  to  gain 
her  attention. 

To  a  novelist  the  introduction  of  these  young 
people  would  be  an  easy  matter.  Emily  would 
only  have  to  drop  her  handkerchief,  which 
the  stranger  might  pick  up  and  present  with  a 
graceful  bow,  that  she  must  repay  with  a  sweet 
smile,  and  then  some  tender  exclamation,  or 
abrupt  compliment  from  him,  and  their  destiny 
to  l  live  and  love  forever,'  would  be  at  once 
palpable  to  every  reader. 

But  in  this  matter  of  fact  sketch,  no  such 
lucky  accident  occurred,  and  so  I  shall  have 
to  write  another  page  to  tell  the  story.  Emily 
did  not  drop  her  handkerchief,  or  meet  with 
an  incident  of  any  kind  that  required  the  inter 
ference  of  a  stranger  ;  but  clasping  her  guar 
dian's  arm  with  more  than  her  usual  care,  she 
walked  home  without  betraying  any  anxiety  to 
know  whether  she  was  followed  or  observed. 

i  You  look  pale  and  fatigued,  Emily,'  said 
Mrs.  Chapman,  as  the  former  threw  aside  her 
bonnet.  '  Do  my  love  sit  down  here  by  the 
window.7 

Emily  took  the  seat,  but  a  deep  flush  in 
stantly  passed  over  her  cheek  as  her  eye 
caught  some  object  in  the  street  before  her, 
and  she  retired  to  her  own  apartment  saying 
she  was  quite  well,  while  Mr.  Chapman  obser 
ved  he  never  saw  her  look  better.  On  de 
scending  to  dinner,  which  Mrs.  Chapman  de- 


196  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

clined  joining,  Emily  again  saw  standing  in  a 
position  that  commanded  a  view  of  the  door  at 
which  the  ladies  entered,  the  same  young, 
dark-eyed  stranger.  He  did  riot,  however, 
offer  to  approach  her  ;  and  whether  he  dined 
there  or  not,  it  was  impossible  for  her  to  say — 
she  never  once  looked  towards  the  place  he 
must  have  occupied. 

She  was  apparently  engrossed  in  listening 
to  the  conversation  of  two  gentlemen  who  sat 
opposite  to  her.  Their  whole  discourse  might 
be  comprised  in  this  sentiment, — '  that  rice 
was  excellent  food — that  rice  was  healthy 
food — that  rice  ought  to  be  a  constant  dish  at 
every  man's  table,'  and  '  that  it  was  wonderful 
the  northern' people  did  not  make  more  account 
of  rice.' 

( 1  have  made  a  very  valuable  acquaintance, 
I  guess,'  said  Mr.  Chapman,  as  he  entered,  at 
a  late  hour,  his  wife's  apartment.  'Judge 
Daggett,  with  whose  character  you  know  I  am 
acquainted,  asked  leave  to  introduce  a  gentle 
man  who,  he  said,  wished  to  be  acquainted 
with  me.  It  was  JMr.  Henry  Sinclair,  from 
North  Carolina  ;  he  is  rather  young,  but  the 
most  sensible  and  intelligent  man  I  have  met 
at  Saratoga.  I  have  been  conversing  with 
him  all  the  afternoon,  and  he  has  told  me  the 
whole  method  of  cultivating  cotton,  and  many 
other  things  that  the  planters  have  not  been 
very  free  to  talk  about.  I  find  too,  that  he 
thinks  very  highly  of  our  northern  country,  and 
would  like  to  see  Connecticut.  Indeed,  he 
says  he  intends  visiting  that  State  before  re- 


THE  SPRINGS.  197 

turning  home  ;  and  so  I  have  invited  him  to 
come  to  our  village  and  see  my  cotton  factory. 
I  should  like,  Mrs.  Chapman,  to  introduce  him 
to  you  and  Emily  while  we  are  here,  and  that 
may  induce  him  more  willingly  to  call  on  us 
should  he  go  to  Connecticut.' 

Mrs.  Chapman  eagerly  assented.     She  fan 
cied  she  should  appear  to  excellent  advantage 
when  there  was  not  a  crowd  of  ladies  around ; 
ad  she  never  once  dreamed  that  the  gay,  and, 
;  she  thought  her,  the  childish  Emily,  would 
itract  the  notice  of  a  man  who  conversed  so 
jensibly  and  seriously  with  her  husband  about 
plantations  and  manufactories,  &c. 

During  Mr.  Chapman's  absence  in  quest  of 
his  new  friend,  Emily  TVoodworth  changed 
her  seat  more  than  once — even  Mrs.  Chap 
man,  occupied  as  she  was  with  the  idea  of  her 
own  importance,  observed  that  something  agi 
tated  the  girl,  and  carelessly  inquired  what 
disturbed  her.  But  Emily,  with  her  usual 
arch  smile,  assured  her  she  was  not  disturbed — 
and  it  is  not  known  to  this  day  whether  a  sus 
picion,  that  the  dark-eyed  cavalier  was  the 
person  her  guardian  would  introduce,  ever  en 
tered  her  mind. 

Mrs.  Chapman  was  much  pleased  with  Mr. 
Sinclair,  and  remarked  several  times  after  he 
had  gone,  that  he  was  the  handsomest  and 
most  accomplished  southern  man  she  had 
seen.  1 1  think  him,'  said  she,  '  a  perfect  gen 
tleman,  and  really  hope  he  will  come  to  our 
village  and  visit  us.' 


193  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

( I  presume  he  will  come  to  our  village,1  said 
Mr.  Chapman,  looking  at  Emily  with  a  most 
provoking  glance  of  intelligence  ;  t  but  wheth 
er,  Mrs.  Chapman,  he  will  visit  you  and  I,  is, 
I  think,  very  doubtful.' 

'  Pray,  who  will  he  visit  then  ?  He  said  he 
had  no  acquaintances  there,'  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Chapman.  '  Perhaps  Emily  can  guess,'  said 
Mr.  Chapman.  But  Emily  Icil  the  room  im 
mediately  without  attempting  to  guess. 

Henry  Sinclair  made,  as  he  said,  the  tour 
of  Connecticut.  Certainly  he  tarried  in  that 
state  several  weeks,  and  was  so  delighted  with 
the  climate,  scenery,  society,  &.c.  that  he  re 
turned  the  next  year,  and  the  next — and  then 
persuaded  Emily  to  accompany  him  to  North 
Carolina,  where  he  introduced  her  to  his  friends 
as  Mrs.  Sinclair. 

The  domestic  happiness  of  this  amiable 
couple  is  often  mentioned  by  Mr.  Chapman, 
and  he  declares  that,  in  his  opinion,  the  best 
method  of  promoting  harmony  between  the 
different  sections  of  our  Union  would  be  to 
promote  intermarriages  among  the  inhabitants. 
'  There  is,'  he  remarks  in  his  humorous  man 
ner,  l  there  is,  1  find,  more  affinity  between 
the  youths  and  maidens  of  the  North  and 
South,  th;m  between  cotton  growers  and  cot 
ton  manufacturers.' 


PREJUDICES. 


c  What  hath  come  to  thee  ?  in  tliy  hollow  eye 
And  hueless  cheek,  and  thine  unquiet  motions, 
Anger,  and  grief,  and  conscience  seem  at  war 
To  waste  thee  ? '  BYRON. 

ON  one  of  those  small  level  spots,  that  may 
be  found  as  you  toil  up  the  steep  road  which, 
running  from  Brattleboro'  to  Bennington,  cros 
ses  the  Green  Mountain,  there  stood,  in  1820, 
a  little  lone  tenement  inhabited  by  a  woman 
whose  name  was  Ranson. 

Mrs.  Ranson  had  endured  strange  vicis 
situdes  of  fortune,  and  it  was  reported  her 
troubles  had  entirely  changed  her  character — 
certain  it  was  that  she  had  for  several  years 
pursued  a  course  of  conduct  so  extraordinary 
as  to  excite  either  the  wonder,  pity,  or  censure 
of  all  her  acquaintance.  Many  declared  her 
singularities  were  affected  to  gain  notoriety — 
these  were  women — others  thought  her  de 
ranged — these  were  mostly  men — and  a  few 
benevolent  people  of  both  sexes  urged  the  sor 
rows  of  a  broken  and  contrite  spirit  had  induced 
her  to  relinquish  the  flattering  but  false  world, 


200  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

and  seek  a  refuge  from  its  vexations  in  her  sol 
itary  abode  on  the  Hills. 

I  can  only  give  an  abstract  of  Mrs.  Ranson's 
story  ;  those  who  regret  its  brevity,  (if  such  old 
fashioned  readers  exist  in  this  age  of  literary 
'  shreds  and  patches,')  may  easily,  by  the  aid 
of  a  little  imagination,  invest  these  simple  facts 
with  all  the  complex  circumstances,  enchanting 
descriptions  and  interesting  colloquies,  of  a 
long  romance.  I  am  half  inclined  to  attempt 
the  exploit  myself.  This  short  hand  mode  of 
authorship  is  but  a  poor  way  of  managing,  if 
one  wishes  to  secure  either  profit  or  fame. 
To  manufacture  a  two  volurned  novel,  hardly 
requires  more  exertion  of  mind,  than  to  write  a 
good  sketch. 

Isabelle  Carrick  was  a  native  of  the  West 
Indies.  Her  mother  died  a  few  days  after  the 
girl's  birth,  and  her  father  when  she  was  twelve 
years  old  ;  but  in  the  interim  he  had  married  a 
second  wife,  who  bore  him  a  boy.  With  that 
ill-judging  partiality  which  may  be  termed  in 
justice  of  the  most  cruel  kind,  because  it  com 
pletely  baffles  the  law  and  often  shrouds  itself 
under  pretexts  that  prevent  the  sufferer  from 
receiving  even  sympathy,  Mr.  Carrick  gave  his 
whole  property,  which  was  very  large,  to  his 
son  ;  only  stipulating  that  Isabelle  should  be 
educated  and  supported  by  her  brother  till 
her  marriage,  and  should  she  ever  become  a 
widow,  she  was  entitled  to  an  annuity  of  one 
hundred  pounds  a  year. 

When  the  contents  of  the  will  became  known, 
the  maternal  relations  of  Isabelie  were  highly 


PREJUDICES.  201 

incensed,  and  they  demanded  she  should  be 
given  up  to  them.  Her  stepmother,  who,  it 
was  helieved,  had  influenced  her  husband's 
will,  very  readily  consented  to  relinquish  all 
right  over  the  portionless  orphan  ;  by  that 
means  she  was  freed  from  the  necessity  of 
educating  her.  Isabelle,  accordingly,  passed 
into  the  family  of  her  uncle  Tolbert.  Some  dis 
turbances  soon  after  occurring  among  the  slave 
population,  rendered  Mr.  Tolbert's  situation  at 
Jamaica  unpleasant,  and  he  determined  to  leave 
the  Island.  His  wife  was  an  American,  and 
that  was  probably  the  reason  that  induced  him 
to  remove  to  New  York  rather  than  return  to 
England.  Isabelle,  now  at  the  interesting  nge 
of  sixteen,  was  such  a  beautiful  girl  that  her 
uncle  had  no  doubt  of  establishing  her  advan 
tageously  in  a  country  where  marriage  was  an 
affair  of  the  heart  and  not  merely  a  calculation 
of  pecuniary  advantages,  even  though  it  were 
known  she  was  portionless.  Yet  Mr.  Tolbert 
did  not  intend  thus  to  test  the  sincerity  of  those 
who  professed  to  admire  his  niece.  He  had  no 
children  ;  he  had  adopted  the  orphan  and  de 
clared  her  his  heir,  and  it  is  no  wonder  she 
was  soon  the  star  of  the  city.  Many  connois 
seurs  in  female  charms  pronounced  Isabelle 
Carrick  to  be  perfect  in  loveliness.  There  is 
no  standard,  there  can  be  none  of  personal 
beauty  ;  the  feelings  of  the  heart  have  more  in 
fluence  than  rules  of  taste  in  our  estimation  of 
the  human  face  ;  yet  there  are  countenances  so 
peculiarlyfascinating,  that  criticism  and  com 
parison  are  out  of  the  question.  If  the  behold- 


202  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

er  has  a  soul  susceptible  of  those  divine  im 
pressions  of  the  beautiful  which  are  among  the 
distinguishing  characteristics  that  prove  man 
superior  to  his  '  brothers  of  the  clod,'  he  ac 
knowledges  at  once  the  interest  of  such  a  coun 
tenance.  No  human  eye  ever  regarded  a  rose, 
rainbow  or  star,  and  turned  away  disgusted  ; 
and  seldom  do  we  find  a  person  that  can  gaze 
on  either  with  perfect  indifference.  Such 
apathy  would  argue  a  man's  mind  more  disa 
greeable,  if  not  as  dangerous,  as  to  have  '  no 
music  in  his  soul' — which,  according  to  Shak- 
speare,  is  one  of  the  seven  deadly  sins. 

But  Isabelle  Carrick  was  never  regarded 
with  indifference.  The  men  praised  and  ad 
mired;  the  women  praised  too,  as  loudly  as  the 
men,  but  I  fear  there  was  a  little  envy,  or  at 
least,  a  little  repining  mingled  in  their  feelings 
of  admiration.  What  makes  this  suspicion  pro 
bable,  I  have  been  told  that  they  always  con 
cluded  their  eulogy  on  her  beauty  by  saying  it 
was  perfect,  considered  as  a  specimen  of  the 
West  Indian  style — the  men  never  made  a 
qualification  in  their  panegyrics. 

'  I  think,'  said  Miss  Button,  '  that  Isabelle's 
cheek  wants  bloom.  She  has  a  fine,  delicate 
complexion,  and  it  contrasts  sweetly  with  her 
profusion  of  curls, 

"  Whose  glossy  black  to  shame  might  bring 
The  plumage  of  the  raven's  wing." 

Now  tinge  her  cheek  with  a  little  "  celestial 
rosy  red,"  and  she  would  be  in  appearance, 
what  you  gentlemen  esteem  her,  an  angel.' 


PHEJUDICES.  203 

c  But  you  probably  recollect,'  replied  Edwin 
Cone, <  that  the  "  rosy  red"  to  which  you  allude, 
was  imparted  by  a  blush,  and  Isabelle's  cheek 
wears  that  tinge  at  the  least  compliment  or 
emotion — a  tinge  that  may  be  considered  "  ce 
lestial,"  as  it  proceeds  from  delicacy  of  mind, 
from  sentiment,  and  is  not  dependent  on  jocund 
health,  and  never  needs  the  repairs  of  art.' 

1  But  then  her  eyes,  Edwin. — Do  you  really 
admire  such  black  eyes  ?  They  seem  too  spirit 
ed  to  please  me.  I  know  the  Mahometans 
celebrate  their  dark  eyed  Houris,  but  I  believe 
Christians  usually  connect  the  beautiful  sky- 
color  with  the  idea  of  angels'  eyes.' 

Edwin  Cone  was  very  polite.  He  saw  the 
blue  eyes  of  the  fair  speaker  beam  with  the 
expectation  of  a  compliment.  Could  a  gallant 
man  refuse  it  ?  With  a  bow  and  smile  he  de 
clared  it  would  be  profane  to  compare  angels' 
eyes  to  aught  save  stars,  and  those  were  al 
ways  set  in  blue;  and  that  the  most  charming 
description  of  woman's  orb  of  vision  he  ever 
saw,  was — 


1m (1  an  rye, 


As  when  the  blue  sky  trembled  through  a  cloud 
Of  purest  white.'— 

The  very  next  day,  Isabelle  Carrick  learned 
that  Edwin  Cone  disliked  black  eyes.  But 
happily  her  heart  was  not  at  all  interested  in 
his  decision.  Had  John  Ranson  made  such  a 
declaration,  she  would  probably  have  felt  very 
wretched. 

There  is  no  subject  on  which  the  old  and 
young  differ  in  opinion  so  materially  as  on  the 


204  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

qualities  most  likely  to  ensure  happiness  in  the 
married  state.  The  aged  are  swayed  by  inter 
est,  the  youthful  guided  by  feeling.  Perhaps 
it  would  be  difficult  to  decide  which  party  are 
oftenest  disappointed.  Those  matches  are  un 
doubtedly  the  happiest,  which  have  been  con 
tracted  equally  from  affection  and  prudence  ; 
— but  heroines  are  not  very  apt  to  consider 
prudence  necessary.  At  least,  when  Isabelle 
Carrick  married  John  Ranson,  in  opposition  to 
the  wishes  of  her  uncle,  she  did  not  consult  her 
interest — and  that  is  to  be  imprudent — is  it  not? 
An  answer  to  that  question,  properly  discus 
sed,  in  all  its  bearings,  would  iill  a  volume.  I 
wish  some  rationally  moral  philosopher,  who 
has  made  that  wayward  thing,  the  human 
heart,  his  particular  study,  would  write  a  trea 
tise  on  the  subject. 

Mr.  Tolbert  held  true  English  aristocratic 
ideas  of  love  and  marriage.  '  The  faith  of 
true  lovers,'  he  observed,  '  was  of  no  conse 
quence,  except  "  to  adorn  a  tale."  It  was 
amusing  to  read  of  love  in  a  novel,  hut  to  be 
lieve  in  its  reality,  or  that  a  particular  fancy 
for  the  person  was  necessary  to  make  men  and 
women  happy  in  marriage,  was  as  absurd  as 
to  credit  the  stories  of  dragons  and  demons, 
knights  and  necromancers,  exalted  characters, 
and  enchanted  castles,  and  all  the  materiel  of 
the  romances  of  chivalry,  from  which  the  un 
reasonable  ideas  of  love  had  been  imbibed. 
The  marriage  most  likely  to  ensure  happiness 
to  the  contracting  parties,  must  be  founded,  like 
any  other  bargain,  on  mutual  interest  ;  some 


PREJUDICES.  205 

substantial  benefit  must  be  conferred  on  each, 
by  the  union  ;  and  then,  the  knowledge  that 
their  partnership  was  indissoluble,  would  in 
duce  them,  if  they  had  common  sense,  to  treat 
each  other  with  complaisance,  which  was  all 
the  felicity  that  ought  to  be  expected.' 

Isabelle  Carrick  had  heard  these  sentiments 
of  her  uncle  expressed  a  thousand  times,  and 
illustrated  by  many  anecdotes  of  contented 
couples,  who  married  for  interest,  and  wretch 
ed  pairs,  who  wedded  for  fancy  ;  but  she  did 
not,  it  seems,  profit  much  by  such  wise  les 
sons  and  lectures.  She  loved  John  Ranson, 
although  her  uncle  charged  the  said  John  with 
being  a  poor  man's  son,  and,  moreover,  guilty 
of  being  obliged  to  earn  his  own  livelihood, 
though  he  had,  by  his  industry,  and  applica 
tion,  raised  himself  to  the  station  of  junior 
partner  in  a  respectable  mercantile  establish 
ment.  Should  such  a  plebeian  be  preferred 
before  Edwin  Cone,  whose  father,  descended 
from  a  respectable  English  family,  was  pos 
sessed  of  a  large  fortune,  and  gave  the  most 
splendid  dinner  parties  in  the  city  ? 

Mr.  Tolbert  thought  it  but  of  small  conse 
quence  that  Edward  Cone  was  a  licentious 
profligate,  and  had  broken,  at  least,  one  en 
gagement  to  marry.  However,  he  did  not  com 
mand  his  niece  to  accept  of  Edwin  ;  he  only 
said,  '  you  may  take  your  choice,  Isabelle.  If 
you  marry  Mr.  Cone,  I  will  give  you  ten 
thousand  pounds  on  the  wedding  day,  and  the 
remainder  of  my  estate  at  my  decease — but 
should  you  wed  John  Ranson,  I  will  never  give 


206  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

you  a  shilling,  though  you  were  starving  at  my 
gate.' 

Isabelle  preferred  John  ;  and  her  uncle  soon 
after  left  America,  in  high  dudgeon,  railing  at 
the  manners  and  customs  of  the  people,  and 
declaring  that  his  niece  would  never  have  been 
guilty  of  such  folly,  in  a  country  where  a  prop 
er  respect  was  paid  to  rank  ;  that  the  levelling 
principles  of  republicanism  were  subversive  of 
all  gentility,  and  must,  while  they  governed 
the  people,  effectually  prevent  the  regulations 
of  good  society  from  being  understood  and 
adopted. 

'  They  are  all,'  said  he,  f  so  perfectly  cana 
ille  in  their  sentiments,  that  Isabelle's  choice 
was  commended  in  some  of  their  highest  cir 
cles,  because,  forsooth,  John  Ranson  was  in 
dustrious,  enterprising,  and  clever  ; — I  can 
say  as  much  of  my  footman.' 

Fourteen  years  passed — Isabelle  had  count 
ed  the  lapse  of  time,  only  by  the  recurrence  of 
new  blessings  and  pleasures,  and  to  her,  life 
still  looked  bright  ;  or,  if  a  cloud  appeared,  it 
was  always  spanned  with  the  rainbow.  She 
was  still  lovely,  and  beloved  ;  the  tender,  tried, 
and  trusted  friend  of  her  excellent  husband,  and 
the  mother  of  one  beautiful  boy.  What  more 
can  earth  offer  of  happiness  !  But  why  dwell 
on  the  picture  ? 

A  (b.y  of  bliss  is  quickly  told, 

A  thousand  would  not  niiike  us  old 

As  ime  of  sorrow  doth — 
It  is  by  cares,  by  woes  and  tears, 
We  round  the  sum  of  human  years 


PREJUDICES.  207 

The  embargo  that  preceded  the  last  Ameri 
can  war,  occasioned  the  first  reverse  of  fortune. 
Mr.  Ranson  struggled  manfully  to  support  his 
credit,  for  he  knew  that  the  weal  and  wo  of 
those  dearer  than  himself,  were  involved  in  his 
fate.  His  friends,  for  a  time,  buoyed  him  up  ; 
but  the  struggle  between  the  nations  commen 
ced,  and  then  who  sympathised  much  for  indi 
vidual,  and  pecuniary  suffering,  while  the  fate 
of  armies,  and  the  fame  of  the  Republic  were 
at  hazard  ?  But  Mr.  Ranson  was  soon  re 
leased  from  all  inquietudes.  Journeying  from 
Albany  to  Boston,  the  carriage  in  which  he 
travelled,  was,  by  the  horses  taking  fright, 
precipitatecftiown  a  deep  chasm,  where  he  was 
instantly  killed. 

Hitherto,  Mrs.  Ranson,  though  she  had  lost, 
or  been  abandoned  by  all  her  own  relations, 
and  had,  by  injustice  and  prejudice,  been  de 
prived  of  the  fortunes  to  which  she  had  been 
apparently  destined,  yet  it  could  hardly  be 
said  she  had  endured  a  reverse.  Can  that  be 
termed  a  reverse  which  is  not  felt  as  a  misfor 
tune  ?  Even  her  husband's  embarrassments 
had  not  been  realized  by  her,  as  he  had  sedu 
lously  labored  to  prevent  his  family  from  suffer 
ing  privations.  But  she  was  now  widowed 
and  destitute  of  property  ;  and  the  friends  of 
her  prosperity  were  so  shocked  at  her  misfor 
tunes,  and  the  consequent  change  in  her  ap 
pearance  and  behavior,  that  they  Unanimously 
concluded  that  she  did  not  wish  for  society  ; 
and  they  were  too  well  bred  to  intrude  on  her 
sorrows, 


208  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

The  sufferings  of  Mrs.  Ranson,  and  the  ne 
glect  of  her  city  friends,  induced  her  to  apply 
to  the  relations  of  her  husband,  and  this  finally 
led  to  an  arrangement,  by  which  she  consent 
ed  to  remove,  with  her  child,  to  a  small  town  in 
the  western  part  of  Massachusetts,  and  reside 
with  his  aged  parents. 

Mrs.  Ranson  was  now  placed  in  a  situation, 
perhaps  the  most  difficult  and  trying  of  any  in 
the  world,  for  one  of  her  character,  and  educa 
tion.  She  ^as  placed  in  a  little  tattling  coun 
try  village,  where  the  system  of  espionage  was 
as  perfect,  and  far  more  harassing,  to  those  un 
accustomed  to  its  operations,  than  it  ever  was 
in  Paris,  when  Fouche  regulated  the  police, 
under  the  orders  of  Bonaparte. 

It  is  not  in  cities,  or  among  the  educated  and 
fashionable  of  a  community,  that  national  pe 
culiarities  can  be  well,  or  truly  discovered. 
We  must  go  into  the  remote  villages,  and 
among  the  scattered  settlements  of  the  interior 
of  New-England,  if  we  would  discover  the  ef 
fect,  either  for  good,  or  for  evil,  which  the  con 
dition,  principles,  practices,  and  institutions  of 
the  Puritans,  have  had  on  the  Yankee  char 
acter. 

Jt  has  not  all  been  for  good  ;  but  our  enemies 
have  never  discovered  the  greatest  fault.  It 
is  not  inquisitiveness,  or  egotism,  or  selfish 
ness.  It  is  calculation} — a  close,  cold,  careful 
calculation.  A  Yankee,  (I  speak  of  the  com 
mon  minded,)  calculates  his  generosity  and 
sympathy,  as  methodically  as  his  income  ;  and 
to  waste  either,  on  an  unprofitable,  or  wide- 


PREJUDICES.  209 

serving  object,  would  be  foolish,  if  not  wicked. 
He  is  charitable  ;  but  it  is  from  principle,  not 
feeling.  Yet  he  is  not  deficient  in  warmth  of 
heart  ;  but  duty,  his  rhifij  is  always  paramount 
to  his  impulses.  This  is  a  good  principle — the 
mischief  is,  that  l  good  tilings  spoiled,  corrupt 
to  worst.'  Thus  his  rigid  performance  of  duty 
is  made,  and  often  conscientiously,  the  plea  of 
withholding  assistance  from  the  necessitous, 
for  fear  of  encouraging  idleness  ;  of  prying  in 
to  the  most  secret  actions  and  sacred  griefs  of 
the  afflicted,  before  pitying  their  sorrows,  lest 
they  should  be  deserved  or  self-incurred. 

Then  the  Yankee,  in  his  calculations,  gen 
erally  makes  his  own  situation,  conduct,  and 
principles,  the  model  for  others.  Accustomed 
to  labor  himself,  he  calculates  that  every  per 
son  ought  to  be  as  constantly  employed  ;  and 
compelled  by  his  narrow  income  to  practice 
rigid  prudence,  he  deems  a  more  liberal  ex 
penditure,  wasteful  profusion. 

It  was  among  such  a  scrupulously  calcu 
lating  people,  that  Mrs.  Hanson  was  fated  to 
dwell  ;  and  she  fixed  the  attention  of  the  whole 
community.  Her  appearance,  dress,  conver 
sation,  manners,  and  principles,  were  all  in 
turn,  scrutinized  ;  even  her  thoughts  and  feel 
ings  were  guessed  at,  and  her  plans  and  future 
prospects,  made  the  frequent  subject  of  that 
kind  of  commiseration,  which  seems  to  proceed 
from  a  hope,  that  the  evils  thus  conjured  up, 
like  Banquo's  shadowy  kings,  to  frown  in  re 
view,  will  be  fully  realized. 

<  0  la  !'  said  Mrs.  Pratt,  as  she  took  her 
18 


210  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

seat  at  the  table  of  her  neighbour  Dusiin,  where 
she  regularly  drank  her  tea  every  week  ; — '  O 
la!  I  declare  I  never  was  so  shocked  in  my 
life.  Mrs.  Cutter  heard  her  say  so.' 

1  Who  ?  what  ?'  inquired  Mr.  Dustin. 

1  Gracious  !  Mr.  Dustin,  have  you  not  heard 
it  ?'  said  Mrs.  Pratt.  '  Well,  I  declare,  I 
never  meant  to  mention  the  thing  ;  I  would 
not  have  it  get  about  among  the  people  for  all 
the  world,  for  I  really  believe  the  woman  does 
as  well  as  she  knows  how.  Only  think  !  she 
could  not  be  brought  up  like  a  Christian,  away 
there  in  the  Wrest  Indies.  We  must  have 
charity  for  such  folks.' 

c  Oh,  you  are  talking  of  Mrs.  Ranson,  I 
see,'  said  Mr.  Dustin. 

'  Yes,  I  have  just  been  telling  your  wife  ; 
but  pray  never  mention  it, — or  if  you  do,  nev 
er  say  I  told  you, — that  Mrs.  Ranson  says  she 
thinks  our  meetings  are  very  dull,  and  she  had 
rather  read  prayers  at  home,  than  hear  our 
minister  preach.  And  then  she  always  wants 
a  parade  for  dinner,  because  they  used  to  have 
great  dinners  in  the  city.  I  wonder  if  she 
thinks  that  is  the  way  to  keep  the  Sabbath  day 
holy  ?' 

1  Does  she  do  anything,  I  wonder  ?'  said 
Mrs.  Dustin. 

'  No,  indeed — not  she,'  replied  Mrs.  Pratt. 
4  WThy,  she  has  her  black  woman,  to  wait  upon 
her  ;  and  there's  her  child,  brought  up  in  idle 
ness  ;  that  great  boy,  nearly  fifteen,  who  wears 
his  ruffles  every  day,  and  they  say,  never  did 
any  work  in  his  life.' 


PREJUDICES.  211 

f  I  wonder  how  she  thinks  they  are  to  be 
maintained,'  said  Mr.  Dustin.  l  Old  Mr.  Ran- 
son  has  but  little  property,  and  his  wife  is 
very  unwell.  They  cannot  support  such  an 
idle,  expensive  family.' 

'  Oh,  she  doesn't  think  about  it,'  replied 
Mrs.  Pratt. 

i  Such  grand  folks  never  seem  to  think  about 
expenses.  They  have  never  calculated  how 
to  get  a  living.  But  I  fear  she  will  have  to 
put  out  her  boy,  and  work  herself,  before  slie 
dies.' 

1 1  suppose  she  expects  people  will  assist 
her,'  said  Mr.  Dustin.  '  And  the  widow  and 
fatherless  should  always  be  remembered.' 

£  I  suppose  she  does  ;  but  I  am  afraid  the 
poor  woman  will  be  disappointed,'  said  Mrs. 
Pratt.  c  People  that  work  as  hard  as  we  do, 
cannot  feel  it  our  duty  to  support  a  family  in 
idleness.  She  ought  to  put  out  that  great  boy, 
and  have  him  taught  to  work,  and  then  he 
might  help  maintain  her.' 

'  They  say  she  married  against  her  uncle's 
consent,'  said  Mrs.  Dustin.  *  It  is  no  wonder 
she  does  not  prosper. — She  might  have  had  all 
his  estate,  if  she  had  only  tried  to  please  him.' 

1  She  looks  to  me  like  a  woman  who  is  very 
set  in  her  own  way,  and  very  haughty,'  said 
Mrs.  Pratt.  i  I  called  to  see  her  the  day  after 
she  arrived,  for  1  thought  it  my  duty  to  visit  the 
unfortunate,  and  the  stranger,  and  I  meant  to 
like  her,  if  I  could,  for  I  really  pitied  her  ;  but 
she  took  no  notice  of  me,  and  hardly  spoke 


212  AMERICAN   SKETCHES. 

while  I  was  there.  I  cannot  waste  my  time 
to  visit  such  proud  folks.' 

Mrs.  Ranson  had  a  kind  and  generous  dis 
position,  but  she  was  very  .sensitive,  and  her 
refined  and  delicate  mind,  though  bowed  with 
affliction,  was  not,  in  the  least,  divested  of 
those  feelings  of  independence,  and  superior 
ity,  which  persons  always  accustomed  to  afflu 
ence,  and  to  the  humble  attendance  of  slaves, 
must  necessarily  imbibe.  She  was  shocked  at 
the  grossness  of  the  villagers,  and  irritated  at 
what  she  thought  their  unfeeling  interference 
in  her  private  concerns  ;  but,  especially,  the 
idea  that  her  son  ought  to  be  confined  to  labor, 
was  an  indignity,  an  outrage,  on  all  propriety, 
that  she  never  could  pardon. 

The  two  parties  were  soon  completely  at 
variance,  and  the  villagers,  by  dint  of  clamors, 
if  not  reasons,  were,  as  is  usual,  victorious. 
They  convinced  old  Mr.  Ranson,  that  his 
grandson  John  would  certainly  be  ruined,  if 
he  was  not  taught  to  work.  But  the  lad  was 
as  tenacious  of  his  patrician  privileges  as  his 
mother,  and  rather  than  don  the  '  every-day 
clothes'  of  a  plough  boy,  he  besought  her  to 
allow  him  to  enlist  as  a  soldier. 

He  was  nearly  fifteen,  and  tall  of  his  age, 
and  soldiers  were,  at  that  time,  so  much  need 
ed,  that  officers  could  not  be  very  particular  in 
the  qualifications  of  recruits.  It  was  a  trying 
scene  for  Mrs.  Ranson  ;  but  finally,  the  pride 
and  prejudices  of  the  woman  prevailed  over 
the  tenderness  and  apprehensions  of  the  moth- 


PREJUDICES.  213 

er.  She  knew  her  son  would  be  more  expos 
ed  to  danger  with  the  musket  ;  but  then  he 
would  escape  the  contamination  of  the  spade. 
The  field  of  glory,  or  the  corn  field  !  Could 
one  of  her  education  and  feelings  prefer  the 
latter  ?  She  would  let  him  go  and  serve  his 
country,  and  leave  his  fate  with  that  Power 
who  watches  the  orphan.  She  could  humble 
herself  before  God,  and  intercede  for  her  child, 
but  she  could  not  endure  to  see  him  degraded 
before  men,  as  in  her  estimation  he  would  be, 
if  he  labored. 

The  lad  departed,  and  but  a  few  weeks  elaps 
ed  before  a  stranger  came  to  the  village  and 
inquired  for  Mrs.  Ranson.  He  was  a  messen 
ger  from  the  executors  of  her  uncle  Tolbert. 
That  gentleman  had  on  his  death  bed,  be 
queathed  his  immense  property  to  the  son  of 
Mrs.  Ranson  ;  but  still  wishing  to  manifest 
some  displeasure  against  his  niece,  he  ordain 
ed  that  if  the  boy  died  before  he  attained  the 
age  of  eighteen,  the  estate  should  all  go  to  a 
distant  relative  in  England.  After  that  period, 
should  he  die  without  heirs,  the  personal  pro 
perty,  which  was  very  considerable,  was  to  be 
his  mother's.  The  messenger  hastened  with 
all  possible  speed  to  Buffalo,  where  the  troops, 
in  which  young  John  Ranson  served,  were  sta 
tioned  ;  but  before  he  arrived,  the  battle  of 
Chippewa  had  been  fought,  and  the  brave  boy, 
who  signalized  himself  more  than  once  during 
the  action,  was  numbered  with  the  dead  ! 

Who  ^hall  picture  the  mother's  grief!     It 


214  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

excited  for  a  short  time,  the  concern  and  con 
sternation  of  the  villagers  !  They  knew  it 
was  their  clamors  which  induced  Mrs.  Hanson 
to  send  her  son  from  her — they  felt  condemned; 
yet  still,  most  of  them  pertinaciously  maintain 
ed  that  notwithstanding  the  wealth  which  the 
boy  would  have  inherited  had  lie  lived,  it  would 
nevertheless  have  been  an  excellent  thing  for 
him,  had  he  learned  to  work. 

It  is  painful  to  dwell  on  the  sorrows  of  the 
desolate  hearted,  but  it  is  more  painful  still  to 
witness  the  cold,  unfeeling  manner  with  which 
those  sorrows  are  ofttimes  treated  by  the  igno 
rant  and  prejudiced.  The  regret  of  the  villa 
gers  was  of  short  continuance.  Mrs.  Pratt  be 
gan  her  round  of  visiting,  and  by  the  time  she 
had  drank  tea  with  all  the  principal  families 
in  the  neighbourhood,  which  was  about  three 
weeks,  she  had  convinced  them  that  Mrs.  Ran- 
son  was  not  at  all  to  be  pitied  ;  that  her  troub 
les  were  but  a  just  chastisement  for  her  pride 
and  obstinacy  ;  and  that  it  was  doubtless  a 
mercy  that  her  son  was  taken  away,  as  she 
would  now  have  no  earthly  dependence,  and 
would  probablv  soon  be  brought  to  a  proper 
sense  of  her  follies,  and  then  she  would  see  that 
everything  had  been  ordered  for  the  best. 

But  there  was  one  benevolent  family  in  the 
village.  One  man  .and  woman  who  pitied  and 
assisted  Mrs.  Hanson,  without  censuring  her. 
There  were  doubtless  others  of  similar  gene 
rosity;  but  these  persons  were  the  only  ones 
she  would  acknowledge  as  benefactor^.  That 


PREJUDICES. 


215 


inflexible  perseverance  in  a  favorite  point  when 
persuaded  that  duty  sanctions  the  course  pur 
sued,  which  is  so  characteristic  of  the  1  ankees, 
and  which  Mrs.  Ranson  thought  so  inhuman 
while  employed  to  convince  her  that  her  son 
ought  to  work,  she  found,  when  displayed  in 
her  service,  was  equally  zealous.  Mr.  Law 
rence  was  a  merchant,  but  he  did  not  square 
his  humanity  by  the  rule  of  *  loss  and  gain.' 
He  learned  from  the  tenor  of  Mrs.  Ranson's 
father's  will,  that,  as  a  widow,  she  was  entitled 
to  an  hundred  pounds  per  annum,  and  he  nev 
er  ceased  his  inquiries,  and  exertions,  till  he 
had  succeeded  in  establishing  her  claim,  and 
providing  for  the  regular  payment  of  her  an 
nuity,  lie  delivered  into  her  hands  the  docu 
ments,  and  told  her  the  only  reward  for  his 
trouble  which  he  desired  was  to  see  her  restor 
ed  to  tranquillity.  But  though  she  did  justice 
to  the  nobleness  and  humanity  of  Mr.  Law 
rence,  and  loved  his  wife  like  a  sister,  she 
could  not  be  persuaded  to  return  to  society. 
The  fate  of  her  husband  and  son,  but  especial 
ly  the  latter,  preyed  on  her  heart,  and  almost 
overwhelmed  her  reason.  She  felt  that  she 
had  yielded  to  her  own  prejudices  when  she 
consented  he  should  go  to  the  battle.  Self- 
accusation  made  her  wretched.  She  blamed 
the  people,  it  is  true,  but  that  did  not  atone  or 
justify  her  own  error.  Had  there  been  a  con 
vent  in  the  country,  she  would  undoubtedly 
have  devoted  herself  to  the  penance  of  a  mo 
nastic  life.  She  finally  had  a  small  house  pre- 


216 


AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 


pared  as  near  as  possible  to  the  spot  where 
her  husband  perished  ;  and  there,  accompanied 
only  by  her  faithful  negro  woman  who  had  at 
tended  her  from  infancy,  she  resided  in  1820. 
Pale  and  wasted,  but  still  beautiful,  she  seem 
ed,  as  she  was  described  by  the  traveller,  ar 
rayed  in  her  mourning  habiliments,  wandering 
among  the  lonely  hills,  or  seated  on  the  over 
hanging  cliffs,  like  a  spirit  sent  to  warn  him  of 
some  danger  in  the  path  before  him.  She  was 
the  victim  of  prejudices.  But  let  it  be  re 
membered,  that  though  we  may  be  excessively 
annoyed  by  the  prejudices  of  others,  we  shall 
never  be  quite  wretched  if  we  do  not  yield 
ourselves  to  the  guidance  of  our  own. 


THE  APPARITION. 


I  say  the  pulpit,  in  the  sober  use 

Of  its  legitimate,  peculiar  powers, 

Must  stand  acknowledged,  while  the  world  shall  stand, 

The  most  important  and  effectual  guard, 

Support  and  ornament  of  virtue's  cause. 

COWPER. 

ABOUT  fifty  miles  from  Albany,  in  the  proud 
state  of  New-York,  there  is  a  pleasantly  situ 
ated  little  village,  which  we  call  Harmony. 
Some  events  which  occurred  there  a  few  years 
since,  may  perhaps  interest  those  readers  who 
have  the  good  taste  to  prefer  exhibitions  of  our 
national  and  republican  peculiarities  of  charac 
ter  to  descriptions  of  European  manners,  and 
the  good  nature  to  concede,  that  the  efforts  of 
those  American  writers  who  are  attempting  to 
awaken  the  love  and  the  pride  of  national  lit 
erature  among  their  countrymen,  deserve,  at 
least,  to  be  tolerated.  The  southeastern  line 
of  Harmony  is  bounded  by  a  high,  rugged 
mountain,  that  seems  to  look  frownirigly  down 
on  the  neat,  thriving  farms  stretching  along  the 
borders  of  a  small  river,  which  winds  silently 
through  copse  and  plain  at  its  base.  The 
meanderings  of  this  quiet  stream  are  marked 
19 


213  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

on  the  western  border  by  a  narrow  strip  of  rich 
meadow  land,  displaying  alternately  patches  of 
mowing,  fields  of  corn,  or  of  that  vegetable 
which  an  European  might  with  propriety  term 
a  republican  root,  as  its  discovery  and  use 
have  more  perhaps  than  any  other  resource, 
contributed  to  support  an  increase  of  popula 
tion  among  the  laboring  classes  in  the  old 
world.  The  broad  harvest  moon  had  just  risen 
above  the  rugged  mountain,  and  there  trembled 
over  the  landscape  that  soft  silvery  lustre  which 
so  frequently  tempts  the  poet  to  write  and  the 
maniac  to  rove.  But  neither  poet  or  maniac 
had  ever  been  known  to  exist  within  the  pre 
cincts  of  Harmony,  and  it  seemed  quite  improb 
able  Luna  should  there  find  a  worshipper.  Yet 
one  there  was,  and  a/air  one  too,  regarding  that 
bright  moon  with  an  attention  as  absorbing,  if 
not  a  devotion  as  sincere,  as  ever  a  devotee  of 
Ephesus  paid  at  the  shrine  of  Diana.  Lois  Law- 
ton  was  the  last  surviving  child  of  the  clergy 
man  who  presided  over  the  only  church  which 
had  then  been  organized  in  Harmony.  He 
was  a  Presbyterian,  a  good  preacher  and  a 
strictly  conscientious  man,  and  but  for  two 
reasons  might  have  been  very  popular  among 
his  parishioners.  In  the  first  place  he  did  not 
sufficiently  regard  the  feelings  of  the  minority 
who  were  from  principle  or  prejudice  (it  is 
sometimes  very  difficult  to  determine  which 
predominates  in  the  human  mind)  opposed 
to  his  settlement  ;  and  in  the  second  place  ho 
strenuously  insisted  on  the  fulfilment  of  a  prom 
ise  which  the  majority  had  made  him,  namely, 


THE    APPARITION  219 

that  at  the  expiration  of  five  years  from  the 
time  of  his  installation,  there  should  be  a  con 
venient  and  handsome  house  for  divine  worship 
erected  in  the  town.  No  one  disputed  the  need 
of  such  a  building,  as  the  congregation  were  / 
obliged  to  assemble  alternately  at  a  school-  * 
house  and  a  hall.  The  unchurchlike  charac 
ter  of  the  hall,  where  the  Fourth-of-July  revels, 
and  New  Year  balls,  were  held  as  regularly  as 
the  summer  and  winter  came  round,  was,  in  the 
opinion  of  all  the  good  women,  quite  a  scandal 
to  their  religious  services.  The  men  were  not 
quite  so  scrupulous.  They  wisely  considered 
that  the  building  of  a  church  would  involve  the 
payment  of  taxes,  and  that  inconvenience  came 
more  home  to  the  sensibilities  of  many  rich  men 
than  the  recollection  that  where  the  fiddle  had 
resounded,  prayers  and  holy  hymns  were  to  be 
fervently  breathed,  or  devoutly  sung.  But 
finally  Mr.  Lawton,  by  dint  of  private  expos 
tulations  with  his  church  members,  and  public 
reproofs  from  the  pulpit,  succeeded  so  far  that 
a  town  meeting  was  warned  to  be  held,  to  see 
what  steps  should  be  taken  to  provide  ways 
and  means  for  building  a  meeting-house. 

There  is  no  record  of  a  nation  on  earth 
whose  origin,  progress,  character  and  institu 
tions  were,  or  are,  in  their  predominating  fea 
tures,  similar  to  ours.  Democracies  have 
been,  and  governments  called,  free  ;  but  the 
spirit  of  independence  and  the  consciousness 
of  unalienable  rights,  were  never  before  trans-  / 
fused  into  the  minds  of  a  whole  people.  The 
trammels  of  rank  have  always  been,  since  the 


220  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

days  of  Nimrod,  worn  in  the  old  world  ;  and 
there  men,  even  when  attempting  to  throw  off 
the  yoke  of  despotism,  will  be  found  stooping 
to  established  customs,  and  wearing  the  '  far 
dels  '  of  fashion  as  if  still  in  the  harness.  But 
in  these  United  States  no  idol  of  nobility  was 
ever  set  up  ;  and  consequently,  the  people 
have  never  been  degraded  by  cringing  at  the 
nod  of  a  fellow  mortal.  Our  citizens  walk  the 
earth  with  a  consciousness  of  moral  dignity 
which  places  them  on  a  level  with  the  king 
upon  his  throne.  The  feeling  of  equality 
which  they  proudly  cherish  does  not  proceed 
from  an  ignorance  of  their  station,  but  from  the 
knowledge  of  their  rights  ;  and  it  is  this  know 
ledge  which  will  render  it  so  exceedingly  diffi 
cult  for  any  tyrant  ever  to  triumph  over  the 
liberties  of  our  country.  However,  to  know 
the  rights  of  man  is  but  half  the  benefit  im 
parted  by  our  free  institutions — they  teach  also 
to  know  his  duties.  Persons  accustomed  only 
to  those  establishments  where  the  interests  of 
church  and  state  are  inseparably  blended,  and 
where  some  particular  form  of  devotion  is  en 
forced  and  supported  by  authority,  can  hardly 
believe  that  were  religious  worship  left  wholly 
to  the  free  choice  and  voluntary  support  of  the 
people,  it  would  be  adequately  maintained. 
Yet  our  history  will  conclusively  prove  that 
piety  of  heart  and  freedom  of  mind  are  not 
only  perfectly  compatible,  but  that  the  exer 
cise  of  the  understanding  in  the  examination 
of  creeds,  and  the  volition  of  the  will  in  the 
admission  of  truth,  are  favorable  to  the  cause 


THE  APPARITION.  -221 

of  religion  and  the  Bible.  Is  this  doubted  ? — 
then  let  the  caviller  point  to  the  Christian  na 
tion  in  which  are  so  few  infidels  as  here  ;  here, 
where  freedom  of  inquiry,  and  conscience, 
and  belief,  and  worship,  are  not  only  enjoyed, 
but  exercised  without  the  least  shadow  of  civil 
control. 

These  remarks  are  not  foreign  to  my  sub 
ject,  though  they  may  seem  misplaced,  and  ac 
tually  be  uninteresting  or  dull.  It  was  only  the 
conscientious  feeling  of  duty,  which  freedom 
of  inquiry  and  conduct  brings  home  with  a 
sense  of  awful  responsibility  to  those  who  pro 
fess  to  be  Christians  and  know  themselves 
free,  that  would  have  induced  the  frugal,  pains 
taking,  unostentatious  citizens  of  Harmony  to 
tax  themselves  with  the  expense  of  erecting  a 
handsome  house  for  religious  worship,  when 
they  were  many  of  them  still  dwelling  in  their 
small,  inconvenient  log  tenements.  The  town 
patent  had  been  originally  granted  to  a  Dutch 
man  belonging  to  Albany,  and  the  first  settlers 
were  descendants  from  the  Dutch  colonists  ; 
but  about  the  year  1790  the  unoccupied  parts 
of  the  patent  were  purchased  by  a  Yankee 
speculator,  and  most  of  the  later  emigrants  had 
been  from  New-England.  The  inhabitants, 
however,  lived  harmoniously  together.  Not 
that  they  agreed  exactly  in  sentiment  on  every 
subject,  but  they  seemed  for  some  time  to 
cherish  a  spirit  of  mutual  forbearance.  The 
Dutchman  suffered  his  Yankee  visiter  to  talk 
without  interruption  and  argue  without  contra 
diction,  and  in  return  for  this  politeness  the 


22"2  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

latter  saw  his  phlegmatic  neighbour  still  adhere 
to  those  old  customs,  which  he  had  been  striv 
ing  to  convince  him  were  not  only  extremely 
absurd,  but  very  expensive  and  inconvenient, 
withoqt  exhibiting  much  disgust. 

The  settlement  of  Mr.  Lawton  was  the  first 
occurrence  that  threatened  to  make  a  deadly 
breach  between  the  parties.  The  Yankees 
were  nearly  all  Congregationalists — the  Dutch, 
Presbyterians  ; — the  former  made  the  most 
bustle,  but  the  latter  polled  the  most  votes,  and 
the  settlement  of  their  favorite  was  according 
ly  effected.  The  Congregationalists  were  at 
perfect  liberty  to  seek  a  pastor  after  their  own 
faith,  but  as  the  town  did  not  contain  more 
people  than  might  conveniently  be  accommo 
dated  at  one  meeting,  and  Mr.  Lawton  was  re 
spected  by  all  and  acknowledged  to  be  a  good 
man,  the  Yankees  finally  concluded  to  attend 
on  his  ministry,  and  pay  their  proportion  of 
his  salary.  Had  Mr.  Lawton  been  what,  in 
worldly  language,  is  termed  a  managing  man, 
he  might  doubtless  have  satisfied  both  parties. 
But  he  had  f:xed  rules  of  action,  from  which 
he  would  not  swerve,  and  settled  principles 
which  he  would  not  soften,  even  though  he 
might  by  that  means  have  gained  the  populari 
ty  of  a  Chalmers.  And  then  he  had  a  serious 
dislike  to  the  Puritan  mode  of  church  govern 
ment,  which  he  took  no  pains  to  conceal  or 
qualify.  In  short,  though,  as  I  have  said,  he 
was  a  good  man,  he  was  not  sufficiently  care 
ful  to  prevent  '  his  good  from  being  evil  spoken 
of.'  The  consequence  was,  that  his  Congre- 


THE  APPARITION.  223 

gational  hearers  soon  took  mortal  offence  and 
withdrew  from  his  society.     Had  they  stopped 
there,  perhaps  their  conduct  might  not  have 
deserved  much  blame,  as  it  was  evident  to  alfl 
that  Mr.  Lawton's  sermons  were  oftener  calcu 
lated  to  rouse  their  sectarian  prejudices  than  1 
awaken    their    religious  feelings.     But    theyj 
were  not  satisfied  with  acting  merely  on  the 
defensive,  for  when  was  a  Yankee  ever  known 
to  underrate  his  own   importance,  or  quietly 
submit  to  have  his  religious  faith  and  mode  of 
worship  censured  as  unsound  and  unscriptural  ? 

Meekness  and  forbearance  was  not  certain 
ly  the  spirit  evinced  by  the  Congregationalists 
of  Harmony  ;  and  from  protesting  against  the 
presbyterian  forms,  they  soon  came  to  detest 
and  vilify  the  man,  who  so  strenuously  support 
ed  them,  and  the  people  who  were  his  adhe 
rents. 

Matters  were  in  this  state  between  the  par 
ties,  when  the  meeting-house  was  voted  to  be 
erected.  This  vote  was  conscientiously  giv 
en,  for  when  roused  to  reflection  by  the  argu 
ments  and  expostulations  of  their  pastor,  the 
Presbyterians  knew  it  to  be  their  duty  to  build 
the  house,  and  yet,  so  wayward  is  the  heart, 
so  deeply  rooted  is  selfishness,  that  many 
were  dissatisfied,  almost  angry,  because  Mr. 
Lawton  thus  urged  upon  them  the  perform 
ance  of  an  inconvenient  duty. 

Some  Europeans  have  suggested  that  while 
depending  entirely  upon  the  people  for  their 
support,  our  clergy  must  be  timid  and  time 
serving,  and  while  their  own  interest  is  involv- 


224  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

ed  in  pleasing  their  hearers,  that  there  is  cause 
To  Tear  they  will  ofteiTrritlke  a  sacrifice  of  con 
science  to  convenience.  This  might  be  the 
case,  were  not  the  clergy  sensible  that  they 
are  themselves  a  part  of  the  sovereign  people, 
and  that  to  bow,  cringe  and  fawn,  would  be  a 
renunciation  of  the  dignity  which  here  entitles 
a  man  to  respect  from  his  fellow  men.  It  is 
the  great  merit  of  our  free  institutions  that 
they  accustom  those  who  enjoy  them,  to  re 
flection  and  reasoning.  It  is  not  that  our  citi 
zens  may  choose  their  own  governors,  and 
enact  the  laws  by  which  such  governors  must 
be  guided,  that  makes  the  privileges  of  which 
Americans  should  be  most  proud.  It  is,  that, 
with  the  knowledge  of  his  own  personal  inde 
pendence,  which  is  as  familiar  to  the  republi 
can  child  as  i  household  words,'  there  is  also 
inculcated  a  conviction  of  man's  responsibility, 
not  only  to  his  God,  but  his  country,  posterity, 
the  whole  world.  And  so  far  as  the  human 
mind  can  shake  off  selfishness  and  act  from  a 
sacred  regard  to  truth,  justice  and  duty,  so  far 
will  men  not  only  be  virtuous,  but  fearless  in 
virtue.  And  will  not  a  .clergyman  be  more 
likely  thus  to  feel  and  act,  in  a  situation  where 
he  is  placed  and  retained  by  the  sober  approv 
al  of  a  majority  of  his  free  parishioners,  than 
when  he  owes  his  station  to  caprice,  or  favorit 
ism,  or  stipulation  with  an  individual  ?  There 
needs  no  proof,  but  to  attend  our  churches  or 
read  the  sermons  of  our  divines,  to  convince 
the  most  skeptical  that  our  clergy  are  faithful 
in  the  cause  of  religion,  and  that  their  flocks 


THE  APPARITION.  225 

esteem  them  higher  for  such  plain  dealing. 
But  everything  excellent  is  liable  to  be  abus 
ed  or  perverted  ;  and  this  plain  dealing  may 
be  rendered  ungracious  by  a  disagreeable 
manner.  It  is  the  manner  which  offends  ;  and 
it  was  the  manner  of  Mr.  Lawton  which  made 
his  people  complain.  No  one  thought  of  blam 
ing  him  for  supporting  freely  his  own  opinions, 
or  insisting  that  the  promise  concerning  the 
meeting-house  should  be  fulfilled,  but  it  was 
said  he  was  too  dictatorial,  and  that  he  hur 
ried  on  the  workmen  without  reference  to  the 
extra  expense  which  it  made  the  people,  to 
move  faster  than  the  usual  considerate  motion 
of  a  Dutchman  would  allow. 

But  what  has  this  long  explanation  to  do 
with  Lois  Lawton,  the  clergyman's  daughter  ? 
Much — it  will  enable  you,  reader,  if  you  have 
read  it,  which  I  somewhat  doubt,  to  judge  of 
the  perplexities  which  surrounded  that  young, 
fair  girl  who  is  my  heroine,  and  I  hope  will  bo. — * 
yours,  while  she  was  earnestly  seeking  to  heal       \ 
those  divisions  which  had  unhappily,  for  some 
time,  rendered  the  inhabitants  of  Harmony  as 
unharmonious  a  set  as  can  well  be  imagined.        ) 
To  soothe  suffering  and  calm  the   turbulent 
passions  of  men,  is  so  naturally  the  office  of  wo 
man,  that  Lois  Lawton  need  not  be  consider 
ed  a  heroine  merely  because  she  was  a  peace-      / 
maker  ;  but  it  really  must  be  placed  among  ex 
traordinary  achievements,  that  she,  by  her  pru 
dent  and  conciliating  conduct,  so  ingratiated 
herself  with  the  good  vrows,  that  they  actually 
came  to  the  resolution  to  abstain  from  the  use 


226  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

of  tea  and  sugar  for  a  given  period,  till  they 
had  saved  a  sum  sufficient  to  pay  for  painting 
the  church,  which  expense,  by  the  way,  was 
the  one  of  which  the  Dutchmen  most  loudly 
complained  ;  and  it  was  likewise  an  item  on 
which  Mr.  Lawton  had  strenuously  insisted. 
But  to  appease  and  please  the  Yankees,  re 
quired  more  address,  and  yet  their  good  will 
was  very  necessary  to  the  happiness  of  the 
clergyman's  daughter. 

She  thought  as  she  gazed  on  the  bright  moon, 
of  the  bitter  prejudices  that  existed  between  her 
father  and  Captain  Isaiah  Warren,  the  chief 
leader  of  the  Yankee  faction  ;  and  then  she 
thought  of  his  son,  the  young  Isaiah,  between 
whom  and  her  father's  daughter,  prejudices, 
but  not  bitter  ones,  also  existed. 

'  He  said  he  had  a  plan  which  he  hoped 
would  heal  these  differences,  and  make  my 
father  look  with  approbation  on  our  love,'  said 
the  fair  girl,  softly  yet  audibly,  a  blush  crimson 
ing  her  cheek,  even  though  alone,  and  veiled 
around  by  the  shades  of  night,  at  the  thought 
of  marrying  Isaiah. 

1  And  you  consent  I  shall  pursue  my  plan,' 
said  Isaiah,  who  had  advanced,  unperceived, 
and  then  stood  close  beside  her. 

Lois  had  not  expected  him  so  soon,  but  she 
was  not  easily  flurried,  or  at  least,  she  never 
affected  more  fright  than  she  really  felt,  and 
though  somewhat  confused  that  he  had  over 
heard  her  soliloquy,  she  neither  screamed  nor 
fainted  ;  but,  after  a  moment's  silence,  turned 
calmly  towards  him,  and  begged  he  would  ex- 


THE  APPARITION.  227 

plain  why  he  had  so  anxiously  urged  this  inter 
view.  '  I  wish  to  return  home  before  prayers,' 
said  she — '  or  my  father  will  be  uneasy,  per 
haps  offended,  at  my  absence.' 

The  lovers  were  standing  partly  in  the 
shadow  of  a  broad  sycamore  that  threw  its 
branches  over  the  little  stream  at  their  feet. 
The  water  there  looked  dark  and  deep,  but  fur 
ther  on,  it  was  sparkling  in  the  moonbeams, 
that  came  down  with  that  glistening  power 
which  so  sweetly  invites  c  lovers  to  breathe  their 
vows,'  and  disposes  'ladies  to  listen.'  I  wish 
I  had  time  to  describe  these  two  young  per 
sons,  just  as  they  looked  while  they  glanced 
their  eyes  alternately  at  the  charming  prospect 
around  them,  and  then  turned,  by  stealth,  their 
gaze  on  each  other. 

.  A  genuine  descendant  of  the  pilgrims,  has 
usually,  a  high,  bold  forehead,  and  a  firm  ex 
pression  around  the  chin  and  mouth,  which 
gives  a  decided,  and  generally  a  grave  cast  to 
the  countenance.  This  gravity,  however,  is, 
in  a  degree,  more  or  less,  according  to  the  age 
and  character  of  the  person,  counteracted  by 
the  expression  in  the  deep-set  eye — keen,  live 
ly,  penetrating  ;  it  announces  quickness  of 
thought  and  humor,  which  is  always  allowed 
to  the  Yankees,  both  by  friends  and  foes — the 
one  terming  the  quickness  wit,  the  other  wick 
edness.  When  I  say  that  Isaiah  Warren  had 
a  fine  complexion,  good  features,  and  real  ro 
guish-looking,  Yankee  eyes,  that  would  flash 
with  thought  or  merriment  till  the  blue  iris  ap 
peared  nearly  black  as  the  pupil  dilated,  I 


228  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

mean  to  be  understood  that  he  was  very  hand 
some,  or,  to  use  a  more  indefinite,  and  there 
fore,  more  polite  phrase,  that  he  had  a  very  fas 
cinating  expression  of  countenance.  And  he 
thought  Lois  Lavvton  was  beautiful  as  an  an 
gel.  It  is  therefore  of  little  consequence  what 
others  would  think,  should  she  be  portrayed. 
A  woman  should  never  sigh  for  personal  ad 
miration,  except  from  the  man  she  loves. 

1  You  have  heard,  I  presume,'  said  Isaiah, 
the  blood  flushing  over  his  cheeks  and  temple 
as  he  spoke,  '  that  my  mother  is  firmly  per 
suaded  that  I  am  to  become  a  clergyman  ?' 

Lois  half  smiled,  as  she  answered  in  the 
affirmative. 

'  It  is  a  foolish  whim,'  he  continued, i  and  yet 
my  mother  is  a  worthy  woman,  and  a  sensible 
one,  in  all,  except  what  relates  to  me.  Some 
how  my  parents,  from  my  being  the  first  born, 
I  presume,  always  appeared  to  expect  I  should 
do  marvels.  I  am  sorry  they  indulge  such  hopes, 
and  yet  the  knowledge  of  their  expectations, 
has,  I  confess,  spurred  me  on  to  attempt  be 
ing  the  first,  both  at  school  and  college.  At 
school  my  superiority  was  never  denied,  and 
at  college,  though  1  labored  under  the  disad 
vantage  of  being  poorly  fitted,  and  having  to 
be  a  teacher  every  winter,  in  order  to  earn 
money  to  support  myself,  my  father  being,  with 
his  large  family,  unable  to  furnish  suflicicnt 
funds  ;  yet  I  know  I  maintained  a  respectable 
standing  in  my  class.  But  I  have  nowgradua- 
ed,  and  my  parents  are  urging  me  to  com- 
ocnce  the  study  of  divinity.  Could  I  study 


THE  APPARITION.  229 

with  your  father,  Lois,  I  would  willingly  obey 
them.' 

Lois  looked  astonished,  and  yet  gratified, 
for  her  father  was,  in  her  opinion,  the  best 
man,  and  best  minister,  in  the  whole  world. 
But  how  could  the  matter  be  brought  about  ? 
Captain  Warren  would  never  sutler  his  son  to 
study  with  a  Presbyterian  clergyman. 

'  My  mother,'  resumed  Isaiah,  '  is  confident 
she  once  saw  a  vision  ;  though,  I  presume,  it 
was  nothing  but  a  dream.  When  1  was  an  in 
fant,  she  says,  that  one  night  a  figure,  clothed 
in  the  costume  of  spirits,  which  is,  I  believe, 
always  white,  approached  her  bed,  and  told  her 
that  I  would  be  a  marvellous  boy,  and  that  I 
must  have  a  good  education,  and  then  it  would 
be  again  revealed  what  I  must  do.  Since  that 
time,  my  mother  has  watched  every  incident 
which  has  occurred  to  me,  and  tortured  them 
all  into  omens,  which  she  constantly  interprets 
in  my  favor,  till  she  has  worked  herself  into  the 
belief,  that  I  am  to  be  a  great  man  ;  and,  as 
greatness  and  goodness  are,  in  her  pure  mind, 
inseparably  connected,  she  is  convinced  I  am 
to  be  a  great,  good  man,  which  must  mean  a 
minister.  It  is  in  vain  for  me  to  combat  these 
imaginings.  Indeed,  I  do  not  wish  to  disprove 
her  fancies,  but  to  fulfil  them  ;  still  I  should 
like,  I  own,  to  make  this  romance,  supersti 
tion,  or  prophecy,  whichever  it  may  be,  some 
what  subservient  to  my  own  happiness.' 

1  But  how  has  this  any  reference  to  my  fa 
ther  ?'  inquired  Lois,  timidly. 

*  I  have  thought ,'  and  he  hesitated,  as 


230  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

if  afraid  or  ashamed  to  say  what  he  was  intend 
ing — '  I  have  thought,  if  the  apparition  would 
again  inform  my  mother  that  it  was  necessary 
for  me  to  study  with  Mr.  Lawton,  that  all  ob 
jections,  on  the  part  of  my  family,  would  be  re 
moved  at  once.' 

'You  would  not,  surely,  deceive  your  mother, 
Isaiah  ?'  said  Lois,  turning  on  him  her  dark, 
expressive  eyes,  with  a  look  of  reproachful 
tenderness. 

1  She  has  deceived  herself,  Lois.  You  are 
not  more  credulous  than  I  ;  nor  do  you  ima 
gine,  that,  like  Glendower — you  remember  it  in 
Shakspeare — 

"  These  signs  have  marked  me  extraordinary, 
And  all  the  courses  of  my  life  do  show 
I  am  not  in  the  roll  of  common  men." 

Yet  my  mother  firmly  believes  it.  The  Yan 
kees  are  not  credulous,  or  easily  imposed 
upon  ;  but,  when  once  they  have  imbibed  a 
superstition,  it  is  difficult  to  eradicate  the  pre 
judice  ;  because  they  are  constantly  reasoning 
themselves  more  and  more  into  the  belief  olf 
the  reality  of  their  fancies.  Thus,  everything, 
even  the  most  common  incidents,  concerning 
me,  are  marked,  and  noted,  and  made,  in 
some  sense  or  other,  to  refer  to  the  destiny  for 
which  my  mother  thinks  me  born.  Where  can 
be  the  harm  in  taking  advantage  of  this  super 
stition,  which  I  cannot  remove,  to  heal  the 
prejudices  that,  at  present,  unhappily  divide 
our  families  ;  and  thus  overcome  the  only  ob 
stacles  that  exist  to  our  union  ?'  He  then  went 
on  to  state,  that  what  he  proposed  was,  to  en- 


THE  APPARITION.  231 

velope  himself  in  a  white  sheet,  appear  in  his 
mother's  room,  and  say,  in  a  hoarse,  sepul 
chral  voice,  that  '  Isaiah  must  study  divinity 
with  Mr.  Lawton.'  And  he  wished  Lois  to 
aid  in  disposing  her  father  to  credit  the  story 
and  receive  the  student.  The  families  would 
then  be  necessitated  to  hold  some  intercourse, 
which,  the  sanguine  lover  was  confident,  would 
ripen  into  fellowship  and  friendship. 

'  But  we  must  not  do  evil,  that  good  may 
follow,'  said  Lois,  with  that  solemnity  of  man 
ner  so  peculiarly  affecting  when  assumed  by 
the  young  and  lovely.  '  This  deception  on  your 
good  and  kind  parents,  though  not  intended 
for  evil  purposes,  is  still  a  deception.  It  will 
be  derogatory  to  the  sacred  character  you  are 
intending  to  assume.  It  is  wrong — I  cannot 
tell  you  all  the  evil  consequences  that  may 
follow — but  my  conscience  tells  me  it  is  wrong. 
You  must  not,  Isaiah,  you  must  not  do  it.' 

It  was  all  in  vain,  that  he  represented  he 
should  otherwise  be  sent  to  Connecticut,  to 
study  there  with  the  favorite  clergyman  of  his 
mother  ;  and  that,  in  the  interim,  the  jealousies 
and  divisions  in  the  town  would  probably  in 
crease  ;  and,  perhaps,  his  father  and  hers,  be 
come  so  exasperated  with  each  other,  as  to 
forbid  their  children  to  marry  together.  It 
was  all  in  vain.  Lois  would  not  be  convinced 
that  expediency  was  any  excuse  for  practising 
deception  ;  and  though  Isaiah's  passion  had, 
in  a  measure,  stifled  his  conscientious  scru 
ples,  his  sophistry  could  not  stifle  hers.  So 
they  separated — she,  with  a  sad  face  and  slow 


232  AMERICAN    SKETCHES. 

step,  proceeded  homewards — and  he,  with  a 
sadder  face  and  slower  movement,  wended  his 
way  towards  a  neighbouring  house,  where  he 
had  promised  to  assist  as  a  watcher  with  an 
old  man,  who  was  dangerously  sick.  The  man 
died  that  night,  and  Isaiah  gazed  on  a  scene 
he  had  never  before  witnessed — the  last  scene 
of  all.  It  struck  him  most  painfully  ;  because 
the  old  man  frequently  adverted  to,  and  la 
mented,  the  follies  of  his  youth, — while  it  was 
continually  occurring  to  Isaiah,  that  he  had 
been  guilty  of  a  great  sin,  even  to  plan  a  decep 
tion  upon  his  kind  parents. 

•  When  the  youth  entered  his  father's  house, 
the  next  morning,  he  found  the  whole  family  in 
commotion  ;  and  he  learned,  to  his  astonish 
ment,  almost  horror,  that  his  mother  had  seen 
the  white  apparition  again,  and  it  had  told  her 
that  if  Isaiah  would  prosper  in  this  world,  and 
be  saved  in  the  next,  he  must  study  with  Mr. 
Lawton. 

Isaiah  was  thunderstruck, — and,  in  the  con 
sternation  of  the  moment,  he  acknowledged 
what  had  been  his  own  intentions  respecting 
the  personating  of  the  apparition.  The  mat 
ter  grew  more  solemn,  and  Mr.  Lawton  and 
Lois  were  summoned  ;  when  the  clergyman 
was,  for  the  first  time,  apprised,  that  his  daugh 
ter  and  the  young  student  were  looking  to  each 
other  for  their  earthly  happiness.  As  nothing, 
to  clear  up  the  mystery  of  the  apparition,  ap 
peared,  it  was  believed,  by  all  the  women  in 
the  town,  to  be  an  awful  warning,  a  solemn  call 
to  the  two  religious  parties,  to  lay  aside  their 


THE  APPARITION.  233 

prejudices  against  each  other  ;  and  as  the  meet 
ing-house  was  now  completed,  and  the  people 
were  curious  to  attend  in  the  new  building,  Mr. 
Lawton  had  the  satisfaction,  and  a  heart-felt 
satisfaction  it  is  to  a  good  man,  of  seeing  a  full 
audience  listening  to  his  sermon  on  the  first 
Sabhath  he  performed  divine  service  in  the 
new  church. 

From  that  time,  there  was  more  unanimity 
among  th^  inhabitants,  than  had  been  since 
Mr.  Lawton  began  his  ministry.  This  change 
was  universally  ascribed  to  the  priest,  who,  his 
hearers  observed,  preached  fewer  doctrinal  ser 
mons,  and  insisted  less  on  the  doctrinal  points 
than  used  to  be  his  wont.  Undoubtedly  there 
was  a  change.  Mr.  Lawton  as  firmly  believed 
in  the  apparition  as  any  of  his  people.  Neither 
was  this  strange,  as  he  was  descended,  by  the 
father's  side,  from  a  Scotch  emigrant,  who 
fancied  himself  gifted  with  the  second  sight, 
and  his  mother  was  a  German,  fully  believing 
in  all  the  wild  and  awful  legends  of  German 
superstition.  And,  notwithstanding  Mr.  Law- 
ton  was  a  man  of  sound  sense  and  fervent  piety, 
it  is  not  strange  he  should  be  a  little  infected 
with  superstitious  or  imaginative  notions.  But 
these  had,  in  this  instance,  a  salutary  effect; 
because,  as  the  apparition  had,  as  it  were, 
borne  witness  to  the  saving  creed  of  the  min 
ister,  he  did  not  think  it  necessary  to  argue 
continually  to  prove  his  creed  the  saving  one. 
And  so  the  town  of  Harmony  seemed  soon 
more  deserving  of  its  name. 

There  was  a  marked  change  of  manner  in 
20 


234  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Isaiah  Warren,  from  the  time  he  commenced 
his  religious  studies;  and  when  he  was  licensed 
and  entered  on  the  duties  of  his  sacred  office, 
no  young  clergyman  could  be  more  devout  and 
devoted.  Fourteen  years  passed  away — The 
Rev.  David  Lawton  and  Captain  Isaiah  War 
ren  were  both  gathered  to  their  fathers.  They 
had  died  in  full  charity  with  each  other,  and  in 
the  assured  belief,  that  Presbyterians  and  Con- 
gregationalists  were  to  inherit  the  same  hea 
ven.  But  Mrs.  Warren  still  lived — lived,  to 
enjoy  the  pious  triumph  of  seeing  her  favorite 
son  installed  as  pastor  over  the  destitute  church 
of  Harmony.  And  all  this,  she  firmly  believed 
was  foretold  her  by  the  apparition.  She  was 
never  undeceived — but  the  reader  must  be. 

Isaiah  Warren  had  a  brother  Benjamin,  a 
wild,  roguish,  adventurous  fellow,  who  finally 
went  to  sea,  and  was  absent  many  years.  Af 
ter  his  return,  as  he  was  sitting  one  evening  in 
his  brother's  study,  telling  such  tales  of  his 
wondrous  chances  as  sailors  will  tell,  he  re 
marked  an  air  of  incredulity  on  Isaiah's  coun 
tenance,  and  instantly  paused. 

'  Why  do  you  not  proceed  ?'  inquired  Isaiah. 

'  You  do  riot  credit  me,'  returned  Benjamin; 
'  and  yet  it  does  not  require  a  greater  degree 
of  faith  than  you  once  exercised  about  an  ap 
parition.7 

Isaiah  saw  the  keen  eye  of  his  brother  spar 
kle  with  mirth,  and  something  that  announced 
a  triumph.  In  a  moment  the  truth  flashed  on 
his  mind.  He  started  up,  and  striking  the  ta 
ble  with  a  volume  of  Baxter's  "  Saint's  Rest," 


THE  APPARITION.  235 

(the  favorite  book,  next  to  the  Bible,  of  his 
father-in-law,  the  late  Mr.  Lavvton,)  as  if  the 
said  book  had  been  a  batten,  he  exclaimed — 
~*  Ben,  I  know  you  were  that  apparition  !' 

After  a  hearty  laugh,  Ben  confessed  the 
whole.  '  I  was,'  said  he,  '  down  close  by  the 
river,  among  some  bushes  at  your  feet,  where  / 
I  had  crept  to  fix  a  trap  for  a  mink,  and  there  v 
I  lay  and  heard  all  your  conversation  with 
Lois.  After  you  had  gone,  thinks  I  to  my 
self,  I  will  even  play  the  trick  on  mother,  and 
it  will  be  no  sin,  for  I  am  not  intending  to  be 
a  minister.  So  I  wrapped  up  myself,  and 
stole  into  mother's  room,  on  tiptoe,  and  I  said 
<l  Isaiah  must  study  with  Mr.  Lawton,"  and 
then  was  out  again  in  the  twinkling  of  an  eye. 
That  was  all  I  did  say,  and  that  about  your 
being  saved,  was  no  words  of  mine.  When  I 
found  how  seriously  the  affair  was  taken,  I  did 
not  dare  to  own  what  I  had  done.  But,  on  the 
whole,  I  think  it  was  a  good  thing.  You  ob 
tained  your  wife,  and  the  people  were  all  made 
more  peaceable  and  christianlike,  and  no  bad 
effect  has  followed.  This,  I  guess,  happened, 
because  I  was  not  influenced  by  any  bad  or  / 
selfish  motives,  for  our  chaplain  always  said, 
that  it  was  only  the  indulgence  of  selfishness 
that  caused  us  to  sin.' 


WILLIAM  FORBES. 


O!  wherefore  with  a  rash  iin;>efuous  aim 

Seek  ye  tho-u-  flower}  joys  with  which  the  hand 

of  lavish  i-'amy  paints  each  :l:itteriii<:  scene 

Where  Beaut\  seems  to  dwell,  nor  once  inquire 

AVhere  is  the  sanction  of  denial  'I'rnth, 

Or  whore  the  seal  of  iimh-ceitfiil  (iood 

'I'D  save  your  search  from  folly  !   \Vaiitiii"  these, 

Lo,  Beauty  withers  in  your  void  embrace. 

AKENSIDK 

c  JWiat  answer  did  Elizabeth  give  ? ' 
THOSE  readers,  who  have  been  sufficiently 
interested  in  the  work,  to  retain  a  recollection 
of  the  contents  of  the  fifth  Sketch,  may  remem 
ber,  that  '  The  Village  Schoolmistress'  was 
left  undecided  respecting  the  answer  she  should 
make  to  the  matrimonial  suggestion  of  her  re 
creant  but  repentant  lover,  William  Forbes. 

We  have  given  her  six  months  to  consider 
the  matter,  and  in  this  steam  age  of  the  world, 
no  woman  ought  to  require  a  longer  time  to 
make  up  her  mind.  "What  enviable  advanta 
ges  the  antediluvian  ladies  enjoyed  !  They 
might  reflect  and  reject,  doubt  and  delay,  con 
sider  and  coquet,  for  at  least  three  hundred 
years,  without  :mv  risk  of  incurring  that  appal 
ling  epithet,  which  now,  in  the  brief  period  of 
thirty,  is  sure  to  be  bestowed  on  the  fair  one 


WILLIAM  FORBES.  237 

who  dares  to  remain  in  l  single  blessedness.' 
Yet  I  never  envied  tliat  longlived  race.  I  am 
inclined  to  believe,  the  movement  of  the  spirit 
was  then  as  sluggish  as  the  coursje  of  time. 
It  must  have  been  so,  or  the  body  could  not 
for  so  long  a  season  have  resisted  the  efforts 
of  the  soul  to  escape  from  its  prison  house. 
And  this  sluggishness  must  have  infected  their 
literature.  What  interminable,  prosing  arti 
cles,  many  of  our  writers  are  even  now  inclin 
ed  to  perpetrate,  and  if  their  hours  might  be 
lengthened  to  years,  would  infallibly  inflict 
upon  the  public  !  Nothing  but  the  necessity 
of  accommodating  himself  to  the  proverbial 
speed  of  time,  will  induce  your  thorough  quill- 
loving  author,  to  come  to  the  conclusion  of  his 
favorite  argument  or  article.  And  from  this 
mania  of  '  long  talks,'  which  seems  inherent 
in  most  writers,  we  may  safely  conclude,  that 
those  men  of  a  thousand  years,  would  not  neg 
lect  their  mighty  privilege  of  making  folios. 
To  be  sure,  in  the  dullest  of  all  dull  matter-of- 
fact  knowledge,  chronology  and  genealogy, 
they  had  the  means  of  excelling.  But  romance 
— dear,  delightful  romance — what  chance  for 
a  romance  writer,  when  every  event  that  had 
occurred  since  creation  was  within  the  memory 
of  man  !  And  how  could  they  write  poetry, 
among  such  an  unchanging  and  deathless 
generation  ?  It  would  not  certainly  be  the 
poetry  of  feeling — melting,  moving,  melan 
choly  poetry  ;  for  instance,  like  that  most 
beautiful  of  all  Burns's  beautiful  productions, 
'Highland  Mary.'  And  where  did  they  find 


233  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

metaphors  to  express  the  long  unfading  dura 
tion  of  the  youth  they  must  have  enjoyed  ? 
Not  in  those  bright,  beautiful,  but  evanes 
cent,  or  shifting  things — buds  and  flowers — the 
morning  and  the  moon.  Only  think  of  com 
paring  the  charms  of  a  lovely  girl,  to  the  firm 
ness  of  the  mountain  oak,  or  the  unwasting, 
unvarying  appearance  of  the  solid  rock  !  Then 
they  had  no  rainbow.  Ah,  they  never  wrote 
poetry — that's  certain  ! 

Other  reasons,  quite  as  pertinent  and  con 
clusive,  might  easily  be  offered,  to  prove  what 
a  dull,  cold,  formal,  changeless  and  charmless 
race  they  must  have  been, — but  of  all  kinds 
of  knowledge,  I  consider  antiquarian  lore  as 
the  most  unwomanly.  It  must  be  gained  by 
so  much  research,  and  explained  by  such  learn 
ed  terms,  and  defended  by  so  many  arguments, 
in  the  Sir  Pertinax  style  of  obstinacy,  that, 
heaven  defend  me  from  ever  meeting  with  that 
anomaly  in  our  species — an  antiquarian  with 
out  a  beard.  Leaving  it  therefore,  to  some 
future  Jonathan  Oldbuck,  as  curious  and  com 
municative  as  he  of  Monkbarns,  to  pursue  the 
inquiry  respecting  the  precise  age  at  which  we 
may  conclude  a  belle  of  the  Nimrodian  era, 
became  an  old  maid,  I  will  return  to  the  ex 
planation  of  those  modern  causes  which  gave 
to  Elizabeth  Brooks  that  uncoveted  title. 

I  have  said,  or  ought  to  have  said,  that  Wil 
liam  Forbes  was  an  excellent  scholar,  the  very 
first  in  his  class,  and,  undoubtedly  indebted 
for  much  of  his  mental  superiority,  to  that  cir 
cumstance,  which  is  so  often,  and  truly  too, 


WILLIAM  FORBES.  239 

considered  a  serious  obstacle  to  the  literary 
career  of  a  collegian — namely,  his  love  en 
gagement. 

This  unusual  result,  must  be  attributed  to 
the  fact,  that  Elizabeth  Brooks  had  the  good 
sense,  to  use  rightly  and  rationally,  the  influ 
ence  she  possessed  over  the  heart  and  soul  of 
the  young  student.  Instead  of  wishing  to  en 
gross  his  mind  and  time,  with  the  trifles  which 
must  occupy  much  of  the  life  of  a  young*  girl, 
she  admired,  and  sought  to  imitate  him  in  his 
studies.  And  that  simple  circumstance,  con 
tributed  more  to  animate  him  in  his  exertion, 
than  all  the  lectures  of  his  tutors,  or  the  pros 
pect  of  obtaining  triumphs  over  his  class-mates. 
How  eagerly  he  read,  and  how  early  he  an 
swered  all  her  long  epistles  with  letters  still 
longer  ; — and  yet  their  correspondence  was 
like  that  of  literary  friends.  To  a  stranger, 
their  letters  would  scarcely  have  betrayed  that 
they  were  lovers.  His  were  filled  with  trans 
lations  from  the  classics,  beautiful  sentiments 
that  enchanted  him,  and  must  therefore  en 
chant  Elizabeth — explanations  of  ancient  cus 
toms  and  costumes,  which  threw  light  on  some 
otherwise  obscure  passages  he  had  read  to 
Elizabeth, — solutions  of  problems,  or  explana 
tions  of  questions  that  had  been  proposed  by 
Elizabeth.  Her  answers  were  more  sprightly 
than  his,  (a  woman  who  can  write  at  all,  sel 
dom  writes  a  dull  letter,)  but  nevertheless,  were 
sufficiently  learned  to  have  entitled  her,  had 
they  been  seen  by  a  literary  coxcomb,  to  that 
frightful  appellation,  a  bas  bleu.  I  say  fright- 


240  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

ful,  because  the  terror  of  that  name,  has  pre 
vented,  and  still  prevents  more  women  from 
cultivating  their  minds,  than  would  the  fear 
of  the  dungeon  or  the  rack.  It  is  the  intellect 
ual  Blue  Beard,  threatening  an  awful  and  un 
known  punishment  to  those  women,  who  dare 
a  single  peep  into  the  secret  chambers  of 
knowledge — and  where  is  the  learned  lady, 
who  can  ever  hope  for  a  generous  Selim  to 
rcscuTe  her  from  the  keen,  uplifted  edge  of  the 
sword  of  sarcasm  ? 

Elizabeth  Brooks,  however,  was  wiser  than 
most  wise  ladies, — that  is,  she  did  not  assume 
those  airs,  which  some  learned  women  think 
so  indispensable  to  distinguish  their  important 
selves  from  the  crowd.  She  might  be  a  little 
proud  of  her  learning,  she  was  certainly  proud 
of  William's  learning,  but  the  pride  of  teaching 
him — that  pride  which  makes  men  so  thorough 
ly  dread,  detest,  and  ridicule  a  learned  woman, 
she  never  displayed.  Even  when,  as  was  fre 
quently  the  case,  he  acknowledged,  the  supe 
rior  justness  of  her  remarks,  or  submitted  to 
the  justness  of  her  criticisms,  she  did  not  ex 
press  any  triumph — but  modestly  ascribed  her 
discernment  to  some  hint  or  information  he 
had  before  given  her  ;  thus  making  his  self- 
love  aid  in  the  influence  she  possessed  over 
him.  And  for  many  years,  the  attachment 
fostered  between  these  young  persons,  appear 
ed,  and  indeed  was  of  that  pure,  refined,  intel 
lectual  and  exalted  character,  which  poets 
would  tell  us,  was  *  half  divine'  and  would  be 
quite  eternal.  It  was  that  kind  of  affection 


WILLIAM  FORBES.  241 

which,  if  aught  dependent  on  human  passion 
were  changeless,  might  hope  to  be  so.  But, 
alas  !  the  heart — Who  can  answer  for  the 
wayward  heart,  or  more  wayward  fancy  ? 

The  parting,  and  as  affecting  one  as  a  novel 
writer  ever  witnessed,  maugre  all  their  senti 
mental  descriptions, — the  parting  of  William 
and  Elizabeth  has  been  already  recorded,  and 
it  irks  me  quite  as  much  to  tell  a  story  twice, 
as  to  listen  to  a  twice  told  tale.  So  we  will 
without  further  ceremony,  accompany  my  he 
ro  to  Albany,  and  consider  him  entered  as  a 
student-at-law,  in  the  office  of  Judge  Morse. 
(Note.  Almost  every  lawyer  in  New-York, 
has,  or  might  have,  the  title  of  Judge.)  Mr. 
Morse  was  a  good,  that  is,  a  true,  specimen  of 
the  professional,  political,  popular  men  in 
Newr-York.  lie  was  social  and  hospitable, 
frank,  cheerful,  and  fond  of  humor,  if  not  him 
self  a  wit.  He  was  also  rich  and  respected, 
had  a  gay,  agreeable  wife,  and  several  children, 
and  his  house  was  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
in  the  city,  and  the  resort  of  all  the  fashion 
ables. 

Here  was  a  marvellous  change  to  William. 
He  was  transferred  at  once  from  the  formal 
routine  and  rigid  rules  of  a  college  life,  where 
no  flirting  with  the  ladies  was  permitted  to  be 
thought  of,  except  the  ethereal  flirtation  of 
wooing  those  shy  lasses,  the  c  sweet  and  sacred 
Nine,'  and  where  nothing  in  this  round  world 
was  considered  so  important,  as  to  have  the 
first  appointment  in  the  class,  or  be  able  to 
write  the  best  ( ode  to  Hope,  or  sonnet  to  Des- 
21 


242  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

pair,'  and  introduced  into  the  society  of  ele 
gant  and,  as  he  thought,  the  most  enchanting 
people  on  earth,  and  to  the  bustle  and  business 
of  a  large  city. 

Judge  Morse  had  been  long  and  intimately 
acquainted  with  the  father  of  William  Forbes, 
and  to  that  circumstance,  the  young  student 
was  indebted  for  the  enviable  privileges  he  en 
joyed  of  being  admitted  to  the  family  parties 
of  the  distinguished  lawyer.  Indeed,  William 
was  soon  considered  and  treated  as  one  of  the 
family.  (What  an  excellent  passport  to  really 
good  society  those  young  people  enjoy  who 
have  good  parents.)  William  Forbes  had 
promised  to  write  particularly  of  all  that  befell 
him — all  his  adventures,  and  all  his  reflections 
were  to  be  communicated  to  Klizabeth.  But. 
he  soon  found  it  very  perplexing  and  disagree 
able,  if  not  impossible,  to  keep  his  word.  He 
could  describe  the  country  tolerably  well,  and 
the  people  en  masse — but  to  tell  Elizabeth  of 
all  the  parties,  balls,  Sec.,  he  attended  would,  he 
feared,  make  her  unhappy  in  her  retirement  ; 
to  tell  her  of  the  pretty  and  fascinating  girls  he 
met,  might  make  her  jealous.  His  amuse 
ments,  therefore,  could  not  be  described  to 
Elizabeth*  Neither  would  his  employments 
figure  much  better  in  an  epistolary  display. 
In  all  his  studios  at  college  she  had  participa 
ted  in  indi:i  liwn,  if  not  in  undertianding — but 
Law — dry,  musty,  unintelligible,  inexplicable 
Law — how  could  he  make  her  comprehend 
what  was  to  himself  incomprehensible.  lie 
knew  indeed,  that  she  was  so  devoted  to  him 


WILLIAM  FORBES.  243 

and  his  pursuits,  that  had  she  hccn  near  him 
she  would,  for  his  sake,  have  looked  on  the 
volumes  of  Blackstone  without  shuddering  ; 
perhaps  have  looked  info  them  sufficiently  to 
have  learned  the  difference  between  lex  non 
scripta,  and  lex  scripta.  At  any  rate  she  would 
have  been  interested,  and  listened  delightedly 
to  the  history  of  her  lover's  progress  in  that 
study  so  exclusively  masculine.  But  this  sym 
pathy  could  not  be  excited  by  a  written  corres 
pondence  ;  so  William  relinquished  the  idea 
of  describing  his  studies  to  Elizabeth. 

Most  of  our  scholars  pass  their  three  years 
of  preparation  and  four  years  at  college,  solely 
with  the  view  of  being  better  qualified  for  ac 
tive  life.  Few,  if  any,  are  intending  to  devote 
themselves  to  science  or  the  cultivation  of  ele 
gant  literature.  The  necessary  details  of  busi 
ness,  and  the  feverish  anxiety  of  politics,  in  a 
few  years  wholly  engross  their  minds,  and  un 
less  the  memory  be  exceedingly  tenacious,  of 
all  the  rich  hoards  of  Greek  and  Roman  lore 
they  had  once  boasted,  only  a  few  sparkling 
gems,  kept  for  display,  remain.  This  does  not 
happen  because  Americans  are  incapable  of 
comprehending  the  profound  depths  of  science, 
or  of  appreciating  and  admiring  the  sublimities 
of  genius — it  is  purely  the  effect  of  our  situa 
tion.  With  such  a  vast  country  to  cultivate 
and  control,  unceasing  activity  is  demanded, 
and  there  are,  at  present,  no  supernumeraries. 
Then  the  chance  of  success  in  public  life  is  so 
tempting  to  the  ambitious, — and  who  will  not 
be  ambitious,  when  there  is  a  chance  of  sue- 


244  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

cess  ?  that  almost  all  our  men  of  talents  are,  at 
least  once  in  their  lives,  members  of  Congress 
— in  expectation,  I  mean.  William  Forbes 
had  thus  visited  the  Capitol,  and  been  installed 
in  the  speaker's  chair  before  he  had  spent  six 
months  with  Judge  Morse.  And  that  was  a 
Quixotic  speculation  which  he  would  by  no 
means  have  been  willing  to  communicate  to 
Elizabeth. 

Thus  the  sources  of  confidence  and  sympa 
thy  seemed,  on  his  part,  constantly  contracting, 
and  he  grew  formal  without  intending  it.  If 
Elizabeth  noticed  this  change  she  did  not  note 
it.  She  had  much  of  that  kind  of  good  sense, 
commonly  called  sagacity,  which  means,  the 
faculty  of  foreseeing  consequences  ;  and  she 
must  have  reflected  that  reproaches  never  have 
the  effect  of  enkindling  the  passion  of  a  lover, 
however  they  may  operate  on  that  of  a  husband. 
So  she  did  not  complain  that  William's  letters 
were  cold,  formal,  short  ;  but  she  wrote  often 
and  affectionately,  and  described  her  business 
and  her  pleasures,  her  school  and  the  neigh 
bours,  just  as  if  she  felt  confident  he  would  be 
interested  in  everything  that  concerned  her. 
It  was  the  best  plan  she  could  have  adopted, 
to  maintain  her  sway  over  the  heart  of  William; 
and  it  served,  notwithstanding  the  temptations 
by  which  he  was  surrounded,  to  keep  him  for 
more  than  two  years,  constant  to  the  idea  of 
making  Elizabeth  his  wife.  And  though  he 
might  sometimes  show  a  little  more  gallantry, 
than  is  usually  displayed  by  an  engaged  man, 
towards  the  fair  and  fascinating  ladies  with 


WILLIAM  FORBES.  245 

whom  he  associated,  and  about  whom  he  was 
often  rallied,  yet  he  never  regretted  his  en 
gagement,  never,  in  his  secret  soul,  meditated 
proving,  what  he  did  prove, — a  traitor  to  his 
love  ; — never  till  the  fair  Clarinda  appeared. 
I  must  describe  her.  Clarinda  Curtis  was  the 
daughter  of  a  New-York  merchant,  a  success 
ful  merchant,  for  at  the  age  of  twenty,  he  left 
the  vicinity  of  the  Green  Mountain,  with  only 
two  changes  of  apparel  and  two  dollars  in  cash, 
and  in  thirty  years,  passed  in  the  '  Commercial 
Emporium,'  he  had  acquired  a  princely  for 
tune.  Clarinda  was  the  only  child  by  his  first 
wife,  and  from  her  mother  inherited  a  large 
estate.  She  was  also  rich,  in  expectations, 
from  her  maternal  grandmother,  by  whom  she 
had  been  brought  up.  Then  she  was  beauti 
ful,  splendidly  beautiful  :  tall,  even  to  the  ma 
jestic,  as  Vermont  beauties  usually  are,  and  so 
finely  formed  !  Her  height  she  inherited  from 
her  father  ;  but  the  symmetry,  so  gracefully 
elegant,  the  rounded  arm,  taper  fingers  and 
slender  foot,  were  not  quite  so  strictly  Ver- 
montese  ;  though  these  perfections  are  much 
oftener  possessed  by  your  rural  lasses,  than  the 
city  belle,  or  the  more  fastidious  city  beau, 
who  is  usually  a  perfect  Chinese  in  his  admi 
ration  of  small  feet,  imagines  possible.  Clarin- 
da's  features,  with  one  exception,  were  perfect 
as  statuary  could  be  moulded.  Her  forehead 
was  too  narrow  and  receding,  but  examined  by 
the  rules  of  art,  no  other  fault  could  have  been 
discovered.  Arched  eyebrows,  Grecian  nose, 
the  rose-bud  mouth,  with  the  sweet  curl  on  the 


246  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

upper  lip  that  so  easily  and  advantageously 
displays  the  white  teeth — the  round  dimpled 
cheek,  and  exquisite  chin,  defying  all  adjec 
tive  descriptions  of  round  or  square,  or  long  or 
short, — all  we  can  say  of  it  is,  that  it  was 
shaped  precisely  as  a  beautiful  chin  should  be. 
And  these  features  were  harmonized  by  a  bril 
liant  complexion  ;  pure  red  and  white,  and  both 
in  their  proper  places  ;  and  enlivened  by  a  pair 
of  blue  eyes,  of  a  softness  that  would  have  look 
ed  almost  sleepy  in  a  small  girl,  but  belonging 
as  they  did,  to  a  majestic  beauty,  seemed  to 
throw  an  additional  grace,  the  grace  of  repose 
over  her  loveliness.  Fine,  glossy, '  nut  brown' 
hair,  which  she  wore  in  a  peculiarly  becoming 
style,  completed  all  we  shall  describe  of  her 
outward  form  of  beauty.  Alas,  that  this  should 
be  a  show  merely,  not  the  index  of  inward  ex 
cellence,  that  this  comeliness  should  not  extend 
to  mind  !  Who  can  imagine  such  a  lovely 
looking  being  as  I  have  described  and  believe 
her  a  simpleton  !  Yet  Clarinda  Curtis  with  all 
her  charms,  was  a  dunce;  that  thing  which  sen 
sible  and  educated  young  men  often  admire  for 
a  mistress  ;  but  which  sensible  and  educated 
married  men  will  always  find  exceedingly  disa 
greeable  for  a  wife — an  accomplished  dunce  ! 
Nature  was  not  wholly  in  fault.  The  original 
constitution  of  her  mind  was  undoubtedly  dull, 
she  was  slow  to  comprehend — but  then  she  was 
brought  up  by  a  doting  grandmamma,  and 
never,  till  she  was  full  twelve  years  old,  suffer 
ed  to  do  anything  save  to  grow.  Could  her 
tender  relative  have  spared  her  that  trouble, 


WILLIAM  FOHBES.  247 

ehe  would,  as  she  used  often  to  express  her 
fears  that  the  poor  child  would  weary  herself 
with  so  much  stretching  and  yawning.  At 
length  Mr.  Curtis  interfered,  and  threatened  to 
take  his  daughter  home  if  she  was  not  better 
instructed  ;  and  frightened  at  the  prospect  of 
losing  her  darling,  grandmamma  resolved  the 
child  should  learn  everything.  Masters  of  all 
kinds  and  professions  were  engaged,  and  pour 
ed  their  lessons  like  a  mingled  flood  over  the 
unprepared  mind  of  their  pupil,  till  the  few 
ideas,  that  had,  by  the  kindly  influence  of  na 
ture,  began  to  shoot,  were  deluged  or  uprooted, 
and  no  other  ever  had  time  to  fix.  All  her 
knowledge  seemed  floating,  unsystematized, 
and  unconnected  as  the  sentiments  in  a  scrap- 
book,  where,  although  you  may  have  collected 
something  on  every  subject,  you  can  never  be 
sure  of  finding  that  which  is  needed,  or  appro 
priate  to  the  subject  under  discussion.  Not 
one  of  her  numerous  masters  but  was  ashamed 
of  their  pupil,  except  the  dancing  master. 
Strange  as  it  may  seem,  with  her  indolent  hab 
its,  she  did  love  to  dance.  The  excitement  of 
motion  was  so  novel,  she  was  in  perfect  ecsta 
sies  with  dancing,  and  she  soon  danced  grace 
fully.  For  the  rest,  she  could  play  a  little, 
sing  a  little,  draw  a  little,  and  speak  a  few 
French  phrases  ;  but  she  could  not  have  told 
whether  Mexico  was  in  North  or  South  Ameri 
ca;  nor  have  subtracted  7  from  15  ; — nor  wrote 
a  letter  of  a  dozen  lines  without  mispelling  as 
many  words  ;  nor  read  a  paragraph  in  a  news 
paper  intelligibly.  She  was  a  dunce  ;  and  yet 


243  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

William  Forbes,  with  all  his  learning  and  pene 
tration,  his  taste  and  talent,  did  not  discover 
it.  She  passed  a  fortnight  with  her  aunt, 
(Mrs.  Morse  was  her  aunt,)  and  William  saw 
her  every  day,  and  conversed  with  her  every 
day,  and  fell  in  love  with  her,  and  never  dis 
covered  she  was  a  dunce.  It  was  strange,  he 
afterwards  acknowledged,  but  then  she  was  so 
beautiful  it  would  have  seemed  profane  to  have 
doubted  the  elegance  of  her  mind,  the  propriety 
and  beauty  of  her  thoughts. 

But  though  William  was  enchanted  with  her 
appearance,  and  actually  in  that  most  woful  of 
all  lover-like  predicaments,  engrossed  with  the 
charms  of  one  fair  maid,  while  he  was  enga 
ged  to  marry  another  not  so  fair,  he  might,  and 
I  am  inclined  to  believe  he  would  have  acted 
the  honorable  part,  and  been  true  to  Elizabeth, 
had  he  not  discovered  that  Clarindawas  in  love 
with  him.  How  the  discovery  was  made  I  do 
not  know,  but  made  it  was,  and  William  must 
have  been  a  hero  indeed  if,  besides  subduing 
his  own  inclination,  he  could  have  rejected  the 
beauty  and  fortune  that  seemed,  as  Judge 
Morse  remarked,  designed  by  Heaven  to  make 
him  blest,  and  insure  his  success  in  the  world. 

N.  B.  Judge  Morse  was  not  aware  of  the 
ignorance  and  indolence  of  his  niece  ;  he  had 
seen  her  but  seldom,  and  heard  her  less  ;  for 
she  had  the  good  luck  to  be  naturally  taciturn, 
and  real  good  luck  it  was,  since  her  appear 
ance  was  so  much  in  her  favor,  that  her  silence 
was  called  eloquent.  Had  she  spoke — but 
she  rarely  did,  except  in  monosyllables.  She 


WILLIAM  FORBES.  249 

was  too  indolent  to  converse.  William  Forbes 
married  her,  as  all  my  readers  know,  but  they 
do  not  know  what  mortifying  disappointment 
he  endured,  when  he  found  with  what  a  '  soul 
less'  being  he  was  destined  to  pass  those  hours 
of  domestic  intercourse  his  fancy  had  always 
painted  as  the  most  enviable  privilege  the  mar 
ried  state  afforded.  Had  she  been,  as  many 
superficial  ladies  are,  sprightly  and  amusing,  he 
might  have  thought,  as  many  men  do,  that 
learning  was  quite  unnecessary  for  the  sex  ; 
but  such  indifference  and  inanity  displayed 
her  ignorance  in  the  most  glaring  and  disa 
greeable  point  of  view.  She  seemed  unfeeling, 
because  she  could  not  enter  into  any  of  his 
ideas,  or  respond  to  his  sentiments.  With 
Elizabeth  his  intercourse  had  been  so  truly 
and  purely  that  of  intellect,  their  affection  had 
been  so  founded  on  mutual  esteem  for  each 
other's  capacity,  that  nothing  but  experience 
would  have  convinced  him,  that  the  love  of 
rational  and  intelligent  beings  could  be  main 
tained  without  some  sympathy  of  mind.  But  he 
knew  his  wife  loved  him,  and  wished  to  please 
him,  and  that  knowledge  made  him  feel  in 
dulgent  towards  her  ignorance,  which  he  pitied 
more  than  he  despised.  So  passed  the  time 
for  a  few  months,  and  though  not  happy,  yet 
he  might  have  enjoyed  the  pride  of  being 
thought  happy,  as  the  having  a  handsome  wife 
and  rich  wife,  is  pretty  generally  considered  a 
passport  to  happiness,  had  he  not  unwisely  ta 
ken  it  into  his  head,  that  it  was  possible  to 
make  his  bride  wise.  He  thought  she  could  in> 


250  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

prove,  and  that  she  would  improve  if  she  only 
knew  how  much  his  felicity  depended  on  finding 
a  companion  in  his  wife  ;  and  so  he  took  a  whole 
evening  for  the  purpose,  and  gravely  as  a 
teacher,  told  her  what  he  wished  her  to  study 
and  read,  and  how  he  expected  she  would  join 
in  the  conversation  with  him  and  his  friends, 
&c.,  sketching  precisely,  though  he  might  not 
be  aware  of  it,  the  intellectual  character  of 
Elizabeth  as  a  model  for  his  Clarinda.  lie 
might  with  just  as  much  reason  have  drawn 
the  portrait  of  Clarinda's  beautiful  features, 
and  expected  Elizabeth  to  mould  hers  by  the 
picture.  There  is  an  old  and  quaint  verse  that 
1  recollect  reading  when  a  child,  which  now 
frequently  recurs  to  my  mind  when  I  witness 
some  ridiculous  displays  of  those  who  attempt 
to  fill  a  niche  for  which  nature  never  designed 
them. 

The  man  of  wisdom  may  disguise 
Hi=  knowledge,  and  not  seem  too  wise  ; 
But  t;>.ke  it  for  a  constant  rule 
There's  no  disguising  of  a  fool. 

There  is  no  disguise  for  such  an  one  but  in 
silence  ;  and  thrice  blest  are  those  simpletons 
who  have  the  gift  of  silence.  Clarinda  pos 
sessed  it,  but  love,  what  will  not  the  magical 
power  of  love  effect  ?  loosened  her  tongue. 
Her  husband  requested  she  would  read,  and 
she  determined  to  read  ;  her  husband  wished 
her  to  talk,  and  she  resolved  to  talk.  ]5ut  un 
fortunately,  the  jumble  of  ideas  that  had  per 
vaded  her  head,  ever  since  she  underwent  the 
penalty  of  listening  to  the  lectures  of  six  differ- 


WILLIAM  FORBES.  251 

cnt  masters  in  the  course  of  the  twenty-four 
hours,  besides  her  grandmamma's  advice  to  re 
member  all  she  heard,  had  so  confounded  her 
memory  and  understanding,  originally  weak, 
that  though  she  read,  she  could  neither  com 
pare,  reflect  or  generalize  ;  and  when  she  at 
tempted  to  introduce  in  her  conversation,  any 
thought  she  had  gathered  from  books,  it  was 
done  with  such  an  effort,  and  her  quotations 
were  so  inappropriate,  that  her  ignorance  was 
never  so  apparent  as  in  her  lesirned  phrases. 
Then  she  had  the  habit  into  which  your  poor 
conversationalists  usually  fall,  namely,  asking 
questions.  1  know  nothing  more  disagreeable 
that  does  not  absolutely  shock  one's  princi 
ples,  than  to  be  subjected  to  the  society  of  a 
questioner.  And  William  Forbes  disliked  it 
exceedingly,  but  nevertheless,  he  bore  with  his 
wife's  questions  for  a  long  time  magnanimous 
ly,  hoping  she  would,  as  she  gained  informa 
tion,  become  capable  of  maintaining  a  conver 
sation  without  such  c  questionable'  aid.  He 
hoped  in  vain.  She  never,  in  society,  could 
speak  upon  any  subject  but  by  a  question,  and 
the  more  confidence  she  gained  in  her  own  pow 
ers,  and  the  more  she  conversed,  the  more 
ridiculously  her  questions  were  distributed 
among  her  acquaintance.  How  often  did  her 
husband  wish,  while  his  cheeks  were  glowing 
with  shame  at  some  blunder  she  had  commit 
ted,  that  he  had  never  urged  her  to  talk.  And 
she  did  it  to  please  him — what  could  he  say  ? 
No  matter  what  the  subject  of  conversation 


252  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

was,  she  would  question.  To  give  a  few  in 
stances.  One  day  when  an  eminent  counsellor 
dined  with  Mr.  Forbes,  they  happened,  in  their 
legal  disquisitions  to  allude  to  a  writ  of  fi.  fa. 
and  Mrs.  Forbes  eagerly  demanded  if  that 
writ  was  not  made  against  a  singing  master  ? 
At  another  time,  she  asked  a  lawyer,  with  a 
real  compassionate  voice,  if  John  Doe  and 
Richard  Roe,  could  not  take  advantage  of  the 
insolvent  act  ? — Those  blunders  to  be  sure, 
related  to  matters  which  a  lady  is  not  obliged 
to  understand,  yet  she  should  understand 
enough  to  say  nothing  when  they  are  introduc 
ed  ;  but  another  blunder  she  made,  could  not 
be  so  easily  excused.  Her  husband  was  ap 
pointed  to  deliver  the  address  before  an  Agri 
cultural  Society,  and  proud  enough  she  was 
of  the  honor  conferred  upon  him.  She  could 
talk  of  nothing  else,  and  among  her  host  of 
questions  on  the  occasion,  she  asked  a  cele 
brated  rearer  of  merinos,  why  he  did  not  ob 
tain  some  cotton-wool-sheep  and  exhibit  at  the 
show  ? 

I  mention  these  circumstances  that  young 
men,  intelligent  and  educated  young  men,  may 
be  warned  against  marrying  a  dunce,  though 
she  may  be  beautiful  and  rich,  and  affectionate, 
yet  if  she  be  a  dunce — '  she  must,  she  will  bring 
shame  and  sorrow'  on  her  husband.  Arid  young 
ladies — is  there  not  a  lesson  to  them  in  this  ex 
hibition  ?  Do  they  not  feel  that  though  they 
may  be  beautiful  and  rich,  and  married  to  the 
man  they  love,  and  who  returns  their  affections, 


WILLIAM  FORBES.  253 

yet,  unless  they  have  cultivated  and  improved 
their  minds,  they  cannot  make  their  husband 
happy  or  respectable. 

Mrs.  Forbes  suddenly  died  during  the  tenth 
year  of  her  marriage,  and  those  who  think  her 
husband  rejoiced,  will  do  him  foul  wrong.  He 
shed  tears  of  unaffected  sorrow  over  her  pale 
corpse,  for  he  felt  she  loved  him,  and  that  the 
pang  of  death  to  her  was  separation  from  him. 
But  then  his  grief  was  not  of  that  deep,  endur 
ing  kind  which  is  cherished  by  the  survivor 
when  kindred  minds  are  torn  asunder.  He 
grieved  that  his  wife  should  die  more  for  her 
sake  than  his  own,  or  that  of  his  t'.vo  little 
daughters,  to  whom  he  knew  she  never  could 
have  been  a  competent  instructress  or  mother. 
And  we  may  conclude  that  he  did  not  think 
riches  and  beauty  were  the  most  important 
qualifications  a  wife  could  possess,  because,  as 
soon  as  decency  would  permit,  he  wrote  to  as 
certain  if  Elizabeth  Brooks  was  still  at  liberty 

c  What  answer  did  Elizabeth  give  ?' 

She  said  no  !  unhesitatingly,  as  any  woman 
of  refinement  and  delicacy  treated  as  she  had 
been,  would  say. 

But  Mr.  Bennett  would  not  send  her  answer 
to  his  nephew,  would  not  allow  that  she  could 
decide  on  so  important  a  point  without  first  see 
ing  William  Forbes.  ( lavish  my  nephew  to 
visit  me,'  continued  Mr.  Bennett, l  and  if  I  send 
him  your  rejection  he  will  not  come  to  New 
Hampshire.  No,  no,  Elizabeth,  we  will  give 
him  a  hearing  before  we  pronounce  his  doom.' 


254  AMERICAN    SKETCHES. 

William  accordingly  came.  A  noble  looking 
man  he  was  ;  it  seemed  that  his  manly  beauty 
had  improved  by  years.  There  was  a  strik 
ing  contrast  between  his  appearance  and  that 
of  Elizabeth.  He  had  a  fine  commanding  fig 
ure,  his  black  eyes  were  still  as  bright,  and 
black  hair  as  glossy  as  ever,  only  around  his 
temples  it  had  grown  thinner,  and  gave  to  his 
ample  forehead  a  more  judicial  dignity.  She 
was  slender  and  pale,  or  rather  inclining  to 
yellow  ;  our  villainous  climate,  cold  winters 
and  rough  winds,  soon  tarnish  a  fair  complex 
ion.  But  then  Elizabeth's  countenance  looked 
so  animated  and  intelligent,  that  I  really  be 
lieve  William  Forbes  thought  her  comely,  for 
he  gazed  on  her  with  the  look  of  a  lover  regard 
ing  a  beautiful  girl.  , 

That  appealing  look,  or  his  eloquence,  he 
was  said  to  be  a  very  eloquent  pleader,  and 
doubtless  taxed  his  persuasive  powers  in  the 
suit  he  was  urging,  finally  obtained  him  the  vic 
tory.  Elizabeth,  however,  told  Mr.  Bennett, 
the  day  before  she  was  married,  that  she  should 
not  have  consented  to  wed  Mr.  Forbes  but  for 
the  sake  of  his  children,  his  little  girls  who,  he 
said,  so  much  needed  her  care  and  instruc 
tions.  Thus  by  appealing  a  little  to  her  pro 
fessional  pride,  for  all  successful  instructors  are 
somewhat  proud  of  their  vocation,  the  lawyer 
succeeded,  and  carried  home  a  sensible  and 
intelligent  woman,  and  was  never  afterwards 
ashamed  to  invite  his  friends  to  a  dinner  party 
lest  they  should  discover  his  wife  was  a  dunce. 


WILLIAM  FORBES  255 

Reader,  the  '  Sketch'  is  finished  ;  and  I  think 
it  proper  to  announce  it,  lest  those  who  read  to 
the  end  of  the  article  should  pronoucc  it  dull, 
merely  because  it  is  long.  What  follows  is  in 
tended  entirely  for  the  ladies  ;  gentlemen,  there 
fore,  will  please  to  pass  it  over.  Gentlemen 
never  indulge  their  curiosity  about  the  forbid 
den,  so  I  feel  perfectly  secure  they  will  not  read 
the  next  two  pages.  But  the  ladies  must  read 
them. 

In  the  preface  to  the  Village  Schoolmistress 
were  some  remarks  which,  either  from  their 
novelty  or  the  ambiguous  manner  in  which 
they  were  expressed,  will  not,  I  fear,  be  under 
stood  in  the  sense  intended.  I  did  not  mean 
that  there  was  no  difference  in  the  minds  of 
women.  I  believe,  in  the  original  conforma 
tion  of  soul,  there  exists  as  much  dissimilarit) 
among  women  as  men — and  the  reason  that  the 
original  capacity  is  not  more  distinctly  de 
veloped  and  displayed,  is  wholly  to  be  attribu 
ted  to  the  situation  of  the  female  sex.  There 
is  for  them  but  one  pursuit.  Of  what  use  is  it 
for  us  to  deny  the  fact,  that  it  is  in  the  marriage 
establishment  only,  that  woman  seeks  her  hap 
piness  and  expects  her  importance,  when  all 
history  and  our  own  observation,  confirm  it  to  be 
the  truth.  It  is  not  so  with  men, — they  have 
more  than  one  medium  through  which  to  seek 
for  fortune,  fame  and  happiness,  and  that  is,  in 
my  opinion,  the  sole  reason  of  their  superiority 
of  mind  over  us.  How  I  do  wish  women  would 
be  sensible  of  this,  and  endeavour  to  find  or 
make  an  employment,  consistent  with  propriety 


256  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

— that  must  never  be  relinquished  ; — which 
would  give  to  their  minds  strength  and  dignity, 
the  strength  and  dignity  which  is  acquired  from 
exertion  and  self-dependence.  But  while  wo 
men  imagine  they  are  gaining  importance,  and 
are  flattered  with  those  compliments  on  their  in 
tellectual  progress,  which  the  gentlemen  some 
times  deign  to  bestow,  they  seem  perfectly  un 
conscious  that  they  have  not  made  one  step  of 
advancement  in  the  scale  of  society,  or  at  least, 
they  are  only  engaged  in  the  same  occupations, 
namely,  that  of  canvassing  fashions  and  super 
intending  household  affairs,  which  occupied  the 
sex  a  thousand  years  ago.  I  do  not  say  women 
have  not  more  learning,  that  they  do  not  read 
more,  but  pray  tell  me  what  difference  this  has 
created  in  their  pursuits!  except  to  make  them 
less  useful — because  they  now,  many  of  them, 
think  that  to  'work  with  their  hands'  is  disgrace 
ful  for  ladies,  and  yet  there  is  no  employment 
provided,  in  which  they  can  exercise  their  tal 
ents  and  learning  advantageously — or  indeed, 
at  all.  I  would  rouse  them  from  this  supine- 
ness, — I  would  have  them  seek  some  employ 
ment,  have  some  aim  that  will,  by  giving  ener 
gy  to  their  minds,  and  the  prospect  of  an 
honorable  independence,  should  they  choose 
to  continue  single,  make  them  less  dependent 
on  marriage  as  the  means  of  support. 

They  will  then  really  improve,  because  their 
minds  will  have  a  wider  circle  in  which  to  move 
and  act.  Women  might  succeed  in  many  of 
the  fine  arts  ;.but  still,  I  think  the  business  of 
instruction,  the  one  best  fitted  to  their  charac- 


WILLIAM  P,  ,flES.  257 

ter,  to  the  situation,  which  they  must,  indeed, 
ought  to  hold  in  society,  because  it  was  evident 
ly  assigned  them  by  their  Creator.  It  was  for 
these  reasons  I  urged  upon  their  consideration 
the  importance  of  school— keeping. 

I  seek  to  promote  the  happiness  and  the  best 
interest  of  my  sex  ;  but  I  do  not  think  that  hap 
piness,  or  those  interests  will  be  advanced  by 
flattering  women  that  they  are  angels,  or  that 
they  have,  as  yet,  much  claim  to  a  mental 
equality  with  men,  if  equality  consist  in  the 
exertion  of  mind.  We  have  reason,  but  we  sel 
dom  use  it ;  we  might  about  as  well  be  guided 
by  instinct.  We  proceed  day  after  day,  and 
year  after  year  in  the  same  routine,  without 
exhibiting  one  original  idea.  All  new  dis 
coveries  and  inventions  are  made  by  the  men  ; 
even  the  chemical  combinations  in  cookery, 
and  their  causes,  are  unknown  to  almost  every 
female,  to  those  who  have  cooked  all  their  days. 
We  do  not  think — there  is  the  fault  of  our  edu 
cation — we  are  not  taught  by  necessity, — the 
necessity  that  arises  to  men  in  their  diversi 
fied  pursuits, — to  reflect? 


22 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY. 


1  My  country,  thou  art  free— the  orient  wave, 

Albeit  perfumed  by  India's  spicy  gales, 

Floats  round  the  land  where  dwells  the  crouching  slave, 

Where  rapine   prowls,  and  tyranny  prevails — 

But  here,  in  Freedom's  green  and  peaceful  vales, 

Man  with  his  fellow  mortal  proudly  copes  ; 

No  despot's  will  the  peasant's  home  assails, 

Nor  stalks  th'  oppressoro'er  its  pastoral  slopes, 

Nor  reaps  the  stranger's  hand  the  harvest  of  his  hopes.' 

DID  you  ever  live  in  the  country  ?  I  don't 
mean  a  residence  of  some  six  or  seven  weeks, 
just  to  escape  the  burning,  boiling,  stifling  at 
mosphere  of  the  crowded  city,  when  the  ther 
mometer  stands  at  93°  in  the  shade,  and  clouds 
of  dust  render  promenading  through  Washing 
ton  Street  almost  as  dangerous  as  would  be  a 
march  through  the  desert,  to  explore  the  ruins 
of  Palmyra.  But  there  is  the  Mall.  Oh  !  the 
Mall  is  unfashionable  ; — and  what  lady,  having 
a  proper  sense  of  her  own  dignity  and  delicacy, 
but  would  prefer  suffocating  at  home,  to  the 
horror  of  a  refreshing  walk  in  an  unfashiona 
ble  place  ?  They  must  resort  to  the  country. 
But  never  should  those  ladies  imagine  their 
experience  of  pastoral  life,  makes  them  com 
petent  to  decide  on  rural  pleasures  and  rural 
characters  ;  or  gives  them  the  right  to  bestow 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  259 

those  convenient  epithets,  dull,  ignorant,  plod 
ding,  on  our  country  farmers,  or  uneducated, 
unfashionable,  dowdyish,  on  their  wives  and 
daughters. 

Summer  and  autumn  are  the  seasons,  during 
which  our  city  people  visit  the  country.  In 
summer  all  who  feel  a  sensibility  for  the  beauti 
ful,  are  charmed.  The  green  woods,  the  flow 
ery  fields,  the  soft  lulling  waters  and  calm  bright 
skies,  are  successively  admired  and  eulogized. 
The  sweet  scenery  is  extolled,  be-rhymed, 
sketched — left  and  forgotten.  Autumn  scene 
ry  makes  a  far  deeper  impression  on  the  feel 
ings.  There  is  something  in  the  decay  of  na 
ture  that  awakens  thought,  even  in  the  most, 
trifling  mind.  The  person  who  can  regard  the 
changes  in  the  forest  foliage, — that  can  watch 
the  slow  circles  of  the  dead  leaf,  as  it  falls  from 
the  bough  of  some  lofty  tree,  till  it  mingles  with 
the  thousands  already  covering  the  ground  be 
neath,  and  not  moralize  is — not  a  person  that 
I  would  advise  to  retire  to  the  country,  in 
search  of  happiness.  He  or  she  had  better  stay 
in  the  city  and  be  amused.  Those  who  cannot 
think,  have,  in  my  opinion,  a  necessity  (which 
goes  very  far  towards  creating  a  right)  for 
amusement. 

But  the  season  when  the  scenery  of  the  coun 
try  makes  the  most  delightful  impression  on  the 
traveller's  senses,  or  awakens  his  mind  to  re 
flection,  is  not  the  time  to  form  a  correct  esti 
mate  of  the  social  pleasures  and  mental  advan 
tages,  which  the  inhabitants  in  our  interior 
towns  enjoy.  Labor,  unceasing  labor  is,  dur- 


260  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

ing  summer  and  autumn,  the  lot  of  the  farmer, 
and  usually  of  all  his  family.  The  city  lady  or 
gentleman,  who  visits  in  the  country,  regards 
this  industry  as  oppressive,  almost  slavish. 
And  truly  it  is  sometimes  so  ; — but  still  there 
is  a  satisfaction  to  those  industrious  people,  in 
seeing  how  much  their  hands  have  accomplish 
ed  ;  and  there  is  a  positive  pleasure  in  the  rest 
that  night  allows,  and  above  all,  which  the  Sab 
bath  brings,,  that  persons  ever  occupied  in 
amusements  or  busy  about  trifles,  cannot  com 
prehend,  any  better  than  a  blind  man  could  the 
effect  of  colors  on  the  eye.  I  may  be  told, 
that  such  happiness  only  refers  to  animal  sen 
sations,  that  mind  has  no  part  in  the  bliss  which 
mere  respite  from  the  plough  allows  the  farmer, 
any  more  than  to  the  repose  it  brings  the  cat 
tle  that  assisted  his  labors.  If  mind  had  no  in 
fluence  to  prompt  his  industry,  this  might  be 
true  ;  but  our  American  yeomanry  are  lords  of 
the  soil  they  till, — they  '  call  no  man  master  on 
earth,' — they  are  in  fact,  the  acknowledged 
sovereigns  of  this  vast  country, — they  are,  in 
our  republic,  entitled  to  respect,  from  their 
station  ;  and  those  who  affect  to  look  down  up 
on  the  farmer  and  his  family,  to  despise  and  ridi 
cule  the  country  people,  exhibit  a  spirit  which, 
if  it  be  refined  and  delicate,  is  neither  enlight 
ened,  liberal  or  patriotic.  The  truth  is,  such 
fastidious  persons  know  little,  if  anything,  about 
the  country  ;  not  much  more  than  did  Owen 
Ashley,  when  he  first  entered  as  a  partner  in 
the  store  of  Mr.  Silsby,  merchant  in  the  village 
of ?  situated  about  thirty  miles  west 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  261 

of  the  Green  Mountains.  Owen  Ashley  was 
Boston  born  and  educated  ;  and  was  in  truth,  as 
fine  a  gentleman  as  could  be  found  in  the  city. 
He  was  also  endowed  with  very  good  abilities, 
and  had  he  not  indulged  an  over-weaning 
conceit  of  the  privilege  he  enjoyed,  in  being  a 
native  of  the  metropolis  of  New  England,  he 
would  have  been  a  very  sensible  young  man. 

His  father  had  been  reputed  very  rich,  and 
his  failure  in  1813,  was  wholly  ascribed  to  the 
pressure  of  the  times.  A  time  of  calamity  it 
undoubtedly  was,  to  many  of  our  citizens,  but 
none  seemed  more  conspicuously  marked  by 
misfortune,  than  the  elder  Mr.  Ashley.  His 
real  losses  were  not  so  great  as  was  reported. 
He  had  for  many  years  lived  beyond  his  in 
come,  and  it  therefore  required  but  a  slight 
shock  of  his  mercantile  credit  to  embarrass 
him  ;  and  when  the  downward  course  was  once 
begun,  he  had  no  means  of  retarding  the  ca 
tastrophe.  But  I  am  not  intending  to  sketch 
the  old  gentleman  ;  only  as  his  failure  was  the 
cause  of  inducing  his  son  Owen,  to  emigrate 
to  that  'unknown  bourne' to  most  of  the  native 
Bostonians,  the  land  of  the  Green  Mountains, 
it  was  necessary  to  mention  it.  Such  an  un 
precedented  adventure  required  a  reasonable 
motive  for  its  justification,  or  I  might  be  ac 
cused  of  giving  the  creations  of  fancy,  rather 
than  sketches  of  real  characters. 

1  Is  it  true,  Ashley,  that  you  are  intending 
to  leave  the  city  ?'  inquired  Edward  Paine,  as 
he  took  the  arm  of  the  former  on  quitting  the 
theatre. 


262  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

e  Yes,  such  is  my  intention,'  replied  Owen,  in 
a  low  tone. 

i  When  do  you  go  ?' 

1  To-morrow.7 

1  To-morrow,'  ejaculated  Edward  in  astonish 
ment.  '  Why,  Ashley,  you  cannot  he  serious. 
Have  you  forgotten  the  party  at  Mrs.  Dray- 
ton's  to-morrow  evening  ?  Maria  said  she  was 
particularly  anxious  to  see  you,  and  she  has 
been  arranging  to  have  some  delightful  music  ; 
those  songs  and  airs  you  so  much  admire, 
to  charm  you  if  possible,  from  this  preposterous 
plan  of  self-banishment.' 

i  My  dear  friend,  what  else  can  I  do  ?'  sighed 
the  discontented  Owen.  1 1  have  no  funds  to 
support  me  in  the  city.  My  father  is  a  bank 
rupt  by  thousands.  At  his  age,  it  will  not  be 
expected  he  should  enter  into  new  specula 
tions,  and  his  friends  are  prepared  to  assist 
him.  He  must,  for  the  present,  accept  their 
aid.  But  what  is  excusable  for  him,  would  be 
a  disgrace  to  me.  I  must  engage  in  business  ; 
but  I  can  do  nothing  here.  Neither  is  the  en 
couragement  for  honest  adventurers  in  any  of 
our  cities,  at  all  more  flattering.  The  Vermont 
merchant,  has  made  me  a  very  generous  offer, 
and  I  must  either  accept  it,  or  enlist  for  a 
soldier,  I  see  no  other  alternative.' 

*  1  think,  to  shoulder  the  musket  would  be  to 
me  the  least  horrible  of  the  two,'  replied  Paine, 
as  they  entered  his  lodgings  together.  '  I 
declare,'  continued  the  little  beau,  as  he  ar 
ranged  his  hair  at  the  mirror,  with  a  very  selt 
satisfied  expression  of  face.  '  I  declare  it  is 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  26$ 

abominable,  Ashley,  that  such  a  fine  fellow  as 
you  are,  should  be  driven  from  all  good  society, 
and  sent  among  the  bears  of  Vermont.  If  I 
only  thought  the  war  was  a  just  one,  I  would 
urge  you  to  enlist  as  a  soldier.' 

'  I  have  similar  feelings  of  disgust,  when 
thinking  of  my  destination,'  said  Owen.  '  And 
yet  I  fear  it  is  wrong,  even  absurd  to  indulge 
in  them.  This  Mr.  Silsby,  is  a  noble-minded 
fellow,  and  a  noble  looking  one  too.  Indeed, 
quite  the  gentleman  in  his  manners  ;  and  it 
cannot  be,  that  he  lives  among  savages.  Have 
I  ever  told  you  the  reason  of  his  kindness  to 
wards  me  ?' 

i  Not  as  I  recollect.'. 

c  There  is  an  air  of  romance  about  the  busi 
ness,'  replied  Owen,  smiling,  l  that  promises 
well  for  me  ;  because  I  never  read  any  similar 
preface,  without  a  fortunate  denouement.  You 
must  know,  that  some  twenty  years  since,  this 
same  Mr.  Silsby,  who  had  been  in  trade  but  a 
short  time,  came  here  to  sell  a  drove  of  cattle, 
and  purchase  a  stock  of  goodb.  He  had  traded 
with  my  father  from  the  first,  and  was  then 
considerably  in  his  debt.  The  day  after  he 
arrived  in  the  city  with  his  cattle,  there  came 
a  sheriff  with  demands  from  people  in  Ver 
mont,  and  attached  the  whole  drove.  Mr. 
Silsby  applied  to  my  father,  and  stated,  that  the 
proceeding  was  the  work  of  an  enemy  who 
was  seeking  to  ruin  him  and  supplant  him  in 
his  business.  This  man,  Silsby  said,  had  been 
circulating  false  reports  against  him,  affecting 


264  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

his  credit,  and  by  that  means  had  frightened 
those  men  from  whom  he  had  purchased  cattle, 
and  who  were  to  wait  his  return,  and  had  in 
duced  them  to  send  on  their  demands  after 
him.  He  said,  if  his  property  was  thus  attach 
ed,  and  sold  at  auction,  it  would  ruin  him,  but 
that  if  he  had  the  money  to  satisfy  those  de 
mands,  the  market  was  good,  and  he  should  be 
able  to  pay  the  loan  before  he  left  the  city. 
My  father  was  a  generous  spirited  man,  and 
he  had  moreover,  a  most  thorough  detestation 
of  all  mean,  paltry,  villainous  tricks ;  and  he 
advanced  the  money  without  hesitation.  I 
have  since  heard  him  remark,  that  had  Silsby 
shown  the  agitation  when  he  came  to  borrow 
the  money,  which  he  did  when  he  came  to  pay 
it,  he  should  have  thought  him  a  weak,  timid 
man,  and  though  he  might  not  have  doubted 
his  honesty,  he  should  most  probably  have  re 
fused  to  assist  him.  When  he  appeared  to 
solicit  the  favor,  he  was  to  be  sure  very  pale  ; 
but  his  air  was  perfectly  collected  and  his 
countenance  firm.  But  when,  after  a  very 
successful  speculation  in  the  sale  of  his  cattle, 
he  entered,  and  taking  out  his  pocket-book  fill 
ed  with  bank  notes,  he  asked  my  father  to  pay 
himself,  and  added,  "you  sir,  have  saved  me 
from  a  failure,  from  disgrace,  perhaps  from  a 
gaol -,"  he  burst  into  tears.  He  appeared  so 
overcome  by  his  feelings,  that  my  father  in  a 
lively  tone  attempted  to  reassure  him,  by  say 
ing,  that  what  he  had  done  had  been  no  incon 
venience,  that  it  did  not  deserve  even  a  single 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.       265 

thank  ye — "but"  added  he,  "  if  you  think  it 
has  been  of  so  much  benefit  to  you,  why  I  am 
the  person  who  should  feel  obliged,  because, 
through  your  means  I  have  performed  a  good 
action  so  very  cheaply."  This  reasoning,  how 
ever,  did  not  seem  to  soothe  the  feelings  of  the 
Vermont  merchant, — he  appeared  distressed 
with  his  gratitude,  till  at  last,  my  father  said, — 
u  Mr.  Silsby,  we  will  think  no  more  of  this  mat 
ter  now, — I  may  hereafter  want  your  assistance, 
or  my  boy  may.  It  is  to  me  a  sufficient  reward, 
that  1  have  obliged  an  honest  man,  and  gained 
a  good  friend."  Mr.  Silsby  looked  up  at  these 
words  and  called  me  to  him.  I  was  then  but 
four  years  old,  but  I  remember  it  as  though  it 
were  but  yesterday.  He  called  me  to  him, 
took  me  on  his  knee,  and  bent  his  face  down  to 
mine.  I  remember  hearing  him  whisper,  but 
what  he  said  I  did  not  understand.  He  then 
kissed  my  cheek — and  so  ended  the  tragi 
comedy.' 

'  You  think,'  said  Ed\vard  Paine,  attempting 
to  smile,  while  something  like  moisture  con- 
globed  in  his  eye,  '  you  think  that  this  good- 
hearted  Yankee  then,  made  a  vnrtv  to  assist  you 
if  ever  his  kindness  was  necessary  ?' 

'  I  have  no  doubt  of  it.  And  though  he  has 
never  mentioned  the  circumstance  of  the  loan, 
he  never  forgot  while  my  mother  lived,  to  make 
her  an  annual  present.  One  year  he  would 
bring  a  fat  turkey  so  large,  that  we  were 
sometimes  inclined  to  call  it  a  different  species 
from  those  to  be  found  in  the  market — then 
23 


266  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

would  come  a  firkin  of  most  excellent  butter, 
the  balls  all  made  up  in  a  particular  form,  with 
a  very  curious  stamp  on  each  ball,  and  some 
times  he  would  send  a  cheese,  which  I  used  to 
believe  when  a  child,  was  precisely  the  size  of 
the  moon  ;  and  so  indelibly  has  that  idea  fixed 
itself  in  my  mind,  that  I  now  never  see  the  full- 
orbed  luminary  of  night,  without  thinking  of  a 
Vermont  cheese.' 

1  What  does  he  propose  to  do  for  you  ?'  in 
quired  Edward.  '  I  should  say,  from  what  you 
have  related,  that  he  was  a  very  good  sort  of  a 
man,  but  whether  you  would  like  a  residence 
with  him,  is  another  affair.  I  suppose  he  has 
a  wife,  and  at  least  a  dozen  children  of  his 
own  ?' 

i  No,  he  is  so  singular  as  still  to  be  a  single 
man.  He  met  with  a  disappointment  of  the 
heart,  I  have  heard  my  mother  say,  soon  after 
she  became  acquainted  with  him.  The  young 
lady  to  whom  he  was  engaged,  died  of  a  con 
sumption.  He  brought  her  to  Boston,  during 
her  illness,  and  she  spent  several  weeks  with 
my  mother.  I  remember  seeing  the  young 
lady  ;  and  I  remember  well  how  my  mother 
wept,  when  Mr.  Silsby  came  and  carried  her 
away;  and  that  she  told  my  father  she  wept 
for  the  sorrow  the  young  man  would  soon 
endure,  because,  though  he  flattered  himself 
with  hopes,  the  young  lady  would  never  live  to 
reach  home.  And  she  did  not.  Mr.  Silsby 
has  never  married,  and  so  we  have  reason  to 
think  he  still  remembers  his  first  love, — and  I 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  267 

am  so  romantic,  that  I  confess  I  respect  him 
for  his  constancy.' 

'  He  probably  intends  to  make  you  his  heir, 
if  he  has  no  family.  Is  he  rich  ?'  asked  Ed 
ward  with  an  expression  of  interest  in  the  in 
quiry,  his  face  had  not  before  exhibited. 

4  Yes,  he  is  rich  for  the  country  ;  but  I  am 
not  intending  to  play  the  part  of  heir  expect 
ant.  The  fawning  smile,  the  equivocal  speech 
of  such  a  parasite,  is  to  me,  most  contempti 
ble.  Mr.  Silsby  merits  my  gratitude  much 
more,  than  if  he  had  promised  to  give  me  his 
fortune,  because  he  seems  anxious  to  en 
courage,  and  enable  rne  to  earn  a  fortune  for 
myself.  He  offers  to  take  me  as  a  partner, 
and  allow  me  one  half  the  profits  of  his  busi 
ness  simply  for  my  assistance.  And  he  seems 
eager  too,  to  save  me  from  all  mortification  of 
wanting  a  capital,  by  repeating  how  much  he 
needs  my  help  as  an  accountant, — that  he  is 
tired  of  being  always  harassed,  &c.;  and  that 
is  what  I  call  perfect  charity.  'Tis  a  virtue 
rarely  practised.  Most  people  seem  to  think 
that  if  they  aid  you  in  an  enterprise,  your  feel 
ings  are  of  no  consequence.  But  I  esteem 
that  delicate  kindness  which  spares  me  the 
consciousness  of  my  present  dependence  as  the 
greatest  favor  1  can  receive.  Yes,  Silsby  is  a 
noble-hearted  man,  and  I  only  wish  lie  lived 
among  civilized  beings.' 

i  0  !  'tis  abominable  to  think  you  must  go 
to  Vermont,'  said  Edward  Paine,  1  uttoning 
his  coat  up  closely  as  though  the  blast  from  the 


268  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

Green  Mountain  even  in  thought,  had  power 
to  freeze  his  spirit.  '  Why,  my  dear  fellow, 
do  you  not  postpone  your  travels  till  next 
spring?' 

1  Because  I  am  impatient  to  know  the  worst. 
I  hate  this  procrastination  of  fate.  It  is  to  my 
feelings  more  insupportable  than  actual  mise 
ry.  1  shall  go  to-morrow.' 

1  0  !  not  to-morrow — Allow  one  more  eve 
ning  to  your  friends — to  pleasure — to  life. 
Consider  that  you  will  not  soon  have  another 
opportunity  of  listening  to  the  ll  concord  of 
sweet  sounds."  You  will  hear  no  music  beyond 
those  rude  hills,  except  the  piping  of  the  wintry 
winds,  or  a  serenade  of  wild  cats.' 

Owen  shook  his  head,  and  attempted  to 
speak  gaily  while  he  replied — *  Thank  you, 
Edward,  for  your  solicitude.  It  speaks  well 
for  your  heart  ;  but  my  judgment  must  not 
yield,  even  to  your  affection.  If  I  have  any 
merit,  entitling  me  to  the  confidence  of  my 
friends,  it  is,  that  when  I  have  taken  a  resolu 
tion  on  conviction  of  its  fitness,  I  will  adhere 
to  it.  So  farewell.  And  when  you  and  my 
young  companions  meet,  pray  remember,  that 
in  spirit  I  am  with  you.' 

'  Letters,  we  shall  expect, — letters  contain 
ing  all  your  adventures  and  discoveries  in  that 
terra  incognita,'  said  Edward,  pressing  his 
friend's  hand  as  they  parted,  '  or  we  shall  con 
clude  you  have  positively  given  up  the  ghost, 
actually  died  of  the  maladie  du  pays.7 

1  Yes,  you  shall  have  letters,'  was  the  reply  ; 


A  WINTER  TN  THE  COUNTRY.  269 

and  how  well  the  promise  was  fulfilled,  the 
extracts  with  which  I  shall  conclude  the  sketch, 
will  prove.  The  whole  correspondence  ought 
to  be  given,  but — that  may  be  done  hereafter, 
if  this  sample  proves  acceptable  to  public  taste. 
At  present,  I  shall  only  select*  such  letters  and 
passages  as  will  mark  most  distinctly,  the  effect 
which  country  scenes  and  characters,  had  up 
on  the  mind  and  feelings  of  my  hero. 


Vermont,  Dec.  23. — c  I  am  here  you  see 
my  dear  Edward, — and  alive  and  well,  and  in 
no  danger  of  dying  from  disgust,  or  ennui,  or 
even  the  maladie  du  pays.  To  account  for 
such  a  phenomenon,  I  will  just  tell  you  truly 
of  my  tour,  and  describe  my  present  resi 
dence. 

I  started,  as  you  well  know  in  company  with 
Mr.  Silsby,  in  his  sleigh.  Well,  we  travelled 
silently  on,  he  immersed  in  his  mercantile 
speculations  I  suppose,  and  I  deeply  engaged 
in  planning  letters,  in  which  I  intended  to  ex 
ert  all  my  fancy,  to  portray  the  savage  and 
wild  scenes  I  should  traverse,  and  the  uncouth 
beings  I  should  meet,  in  a  style  of  elegant 
pleasantry,  that  would  divert  my  friends.  I 
remember  now  nothing  of  those  fancies,  except 
that  I  intended  to  introduce  the  witticism,  that 
the  farther  I  travelled  west,  the  more  I  .became 
convinced  the  wise  men  must  have  come  from 
the  east} — and  another  one,  in  which  I  was  to 


270  AMERICAN   SKETCHES. 

represent  the  immense  benefit  my  journey 
would  be  to  science,  as  the  elevation  of  the 
country  where  I  resided,  had  actually  permitted 
me  to  discover  five  new  stars,  one  of  which,  I 
was  convinced  must  be  the  lost  Pleiad. 

During  these  thoughts,  if  such  reveries  de 
serve  the  name  of  thought,  I  examined  coolly — 
you  must  allow,  for  I  was  half  frozen,  the 
country  through  which  I  was  travelling.  I 
was  never  before  in  the  interior  of  the  country. 
Never  before  at  a  greater  distance  than  thirty 
miles  from  Boston,  except  when  I  went  by 
water  to  visit  our  Atlantic  cities.  I  expected 
that  the  farther  I  receded  from  the  sea  shore, 
the  more  rude  and  uncultivated  the  land  and 
the  people  would  be.  Edward,  I  was  never 
so  disappointed  in  my  life.  And  I  would  with 
pleasure  describe  some  of  the  beautiful  vil 
lages,  beautiful  even  in  winter,  and  country 
seats  I  passed  on  my  route  hither, — but  your 
city  prejudices  would  discredit  me.  Come 
and  see  the  country  for  yourself.  Come  in 
the  summer,  if  to  ste,  is  all  you  are  anxious 
about  ;  but  Mr.  Siisby  says,  that  if  you  wish 
to  partake  the  social  enjoyments  of  the  country 
in  their  perfection,  winter  is  the  season.  But 
come.  Do  not  permit  even  the  terror  of 
journeying  over  the  Green  Mountains  to  deter 
you.  I  had  pictured  the  passage  as  an  exploit 
similar  to  that  of  Hannibal's  famous  march 
over  the  Alps, — with  this  trifling  difference, 
that  the  destiny  of  nations  was  involved  in  his 
experiment  of  forcing  his  array  of  men  and 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.       271 

elephants  over  those  frozen  heights,  while  I, 
riding  at  my  ease,  wrapped  in  a  trio  of  buffalo 
skins,  had  nothing,  but  the  vulgar  business  of 
studying  my  own  comfort  and  preserving  my 
own  life  and  limbs,  to  attend  to.  Still  I  thought 
the  adventure  must  be  of  some  consequence. 
There  must  be,  said  I  to  myself,  rugged 
precipices  and  narrow  defiles,  arid  yawning 
chasms,  and  perhaps  a  glacier  or  two.  I  had 
never  heard  the  latter  particularly  named  as 
being  among  the  terrors  of  the  Green  Moun 
tain  ;  the  epithet  Green,  did  not  seem  applica 
ble  to  a  mountain  of  ice, — but  yet  I  might 
discover  a  glacier.  Edward,  I  was  never  so 
disappointed  in  my  life,  indeed  I  was  really 
angry,  when,  after  reaching  that  stupendous 
scene  of  '  mountains  piled  on  mountains,'  a 
few  hours  driving,  up  hill  and  down  to  be  sure, 
and  through  a  cold,  dismal  looking  fir  region, 
but  on  a  good  turnpike  road,  and  without  a  sin 
gle  accident  of  any  kind,  Mr.  Silsby  announc 
ed,  that  we  had  crossed  the  Green  Mountains. 
Here  was  a  finale  to  all  my  hopes  of  being 
immortalized  by  escaping  an  avalanche.  "All's 
well,"  thought  I,  what  an  ignoble  catastrophe, 
that  I  should  pass  that  barrier  of  civilisation 
and  have  no  report  to  make  but  that  "  all's 
well  !" 

I  might  mention  some  peculiarities  of  the 
scenery,  that  would  interest  you  by  contrast, 
at  least,  for  it  is  very  different  in  character  to 
that  by  which  you  are  surrounded.  But  the 
impression  it  has  made  on  my  mind,  is  favorable 


272  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

to  the  country  through  which  I  have  passed, — 
very  favorable  in  comparison  with  the  images 
of  savageness,  desolation,  rudeness  and  pover 
ty,  which  I  had  always  drawn  of  this  part  of 
New  England  ;  and  which  I  know  your  fancy 
will  still  conjure  up  whenever  Vermont  is 
named.  So  we  will  let  the  country  pass,  and 
turn  to  the  people. 

My  Mentor  was  not  at  all  communicative  on 
our  journey.  He  seemed,  as  I  thought,  to  be 
rather  averse  to  answering  my  inquiries  re 
specting  the  inhabitants  of  the  good  town, 
where  I  was  to  make  my  debut.  I  imputed 
this  reserve,  to  his  admiration  of  my  knowledge 
and  accomplishments.  He  has,  thought  I,  al 
ready  discovered  that  the  society  of  his  villa 
gers,  will  be  to  my  refined  taste,  "  flat  and  un 
profitable," — he  is  ashamed  of  the  people  to 
whom  he  is  about  to  introduce  me  ; — for  his 
sake,  for  he  is  really  a  good-hearted  man,  I 
will  try  and  be  civil  to  his  friends  ;  but  I  will 
not  permit  those  bumpkins  to  treat  me  with 
familiarity.  Such  were  my  reflections  when, 
just  as  the  sun  was  setting,  on  the  fourth  day 
of  our  journey,  Mr.  Silsby  aroused  me  from  my 
self-complacent  mood,  by  saying  we  were  with 
in  six  miles  of  his  home. 

"  Have  you  a  good  hotel  or  boarding-house 
in  your  town  ?"  said  I. 

"We  have  a  tavern,"  he  replied, — "but  I 
have  engaged  your  board  in  a  private  family, 
where  I  lodge  myself — with  Colonel  Gage.  He 
is  one  of  our  best  men — a  real  Yankee  farmer." 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  273 

"Good  heavens!"  thought  I,—"  am  I  to 
board  in  a  fanner's  family?  " 

I  believe  the  nervousness  of  my  mind,  was 
apparent  in  my  countenance,  for  Mr.  Silsby, 
after  regarding  me  a  minute  or  two,  said  very 
calmly — "  If  you  should  not  be  satisfied  with 
your  lodgings,  Mr.  Ashley,  you  can  easily 
change.  But  I  wish  you  to  spend  a  week  with 
me." 

The  day  had  been  cold  and  gloomy,  and 
soon  after  sunset,  the  whole  horizon  was  over 
cast,  and  a  thick  darkness  coming  on,  it  be 
came  necessary  to  drive  slowly,  and  the  miles 
seemed  to  me  as  long  as  they  say  Scotch  ones 
are.  We  occasionally  passed  very  comforta 
ble  looking  houses,  the  bright  windows,  promis 
ing  warmth  arid  gladness  within, — but  I  had 
no  interest  in  their  joys — I  felt  chilled  even  to 
the  heart,  I  felt  like  a  stranger — where  were 
my  friends,  my  home,  my  own  bustling  city  ? 
Could  I,  at  that  time,  have  had  the  power, 
which  I  have  often  coveted,  of  transporting 
myself  by  a  wish,  to  whatever  place  I  desired, 
very  certain  I  am,  that  I  should  have  been  in 
Boston  with  the  speed  of  Clavileno,  and  with  a 
resolution  never  again  to  venture  beyond  the 
Green  Mountains.  When  the  sleigh  stopped 
at  the  door  of  Colonel  Gage,  I  was  just  in  that 
peevish  mood  engendered  by  hunger,  cold,  fa 
tigue  and  discontent,  which  makes  a  man  the 
most  unreasonable  creature  on  earth.  I  de 
termined  to  hate  my  host  and  all  his  family, 
and  find  fault  with  everything.  There  was  a 


274  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

secret  pleasure  in  thinking  I  should  have  cause 
to  find  fault, — and  that  was  all  I  expected  to 
enjoy. 

We  were  met  at  the  door  by  the  Colonel 
himself.  He  gave  Mr.  Silsby  a  very  brother 
ly  greeting,  and  when  I  was  named,  grasped 
my  hand  with  such  warmth,  such  kindness,  that 
the  pressure  actually  sent  a  glow  through  my 
shivering  frame, — Edward,  it  reached  my  soul 
in  spite  of  my  prejudices,  I  do  believe  our  spir 
its  know  their  friends.  He  never  relinquished 
my  hand  till  we  had  entered  the  room,  where 
he  introduced  me  to  his  wife,  his  daughter, 
and  five  sons,  of  all  ages  from  sixteen  down 
to  six. 

Well,  Edward,  you  expect  a  description  of 
the  family.  Wait  a  month,  and  then  I  can 
judge  more  accurately.  I  have  been  here  now 
but  four  days  ;  perhaps  I  shall  reverse  my  pre 
sent  opinion.  I  do  not  care  to  be  called-an 
enthusiast — or  a  lover.  I  never  will  be  con 
vinced  of  an  error  by  my  feelings  only.  I 
must  have  a  reason  to  render  for  every  change 
in  my  judgment  of  men  and  things.  But  thus 
much  I  will  say,  and  it  is  what  I  should  once 
have  thought  impossible, — I  am  in  a  country 
village  in  Vermont,  living  in  a  farmer's  family, 
and  yet — I  am  very  happy.' 

January  23d. — 

"  Convince  a  man  against  his  will, 
He's  of  the  same  opinion  still." 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  275 

c  There  is  truth  in  that  couplet,  my  dear  Ed 
ward, — more  than  is  always  contained  in  wise 
proverbs.  It  is  a  very  difficult  affair  to  con 
vince  a  person  who  has  not  only  made  up  his 
mind  on  a  subject,  but  defended  his  position 
with  all  the  strength  of  his  logic,  that  he  has 
mistaken  the  causes  or  consequences  of  his 
system.  Were  it  not  for  this  tenaciousness  of 
the  human  mind  to  maintain  and  uphold  what 
it  has  received  as  truth,  and  defended  as  truth, 
even  after  convinced  that  it  is  not  true,  there 
might  be  reasonable  grounds  to  hope  that  men 
would,  in  time,  reach  that  perfection  which  is 
now  considered  possible,  only  by  the  visionary 
philosopher,  or  the  credulous  philanthropist. 
But  I  mean  to  prove,  that  it  is  practicable  to 
overcome  the  prejudices  of  education,  or  situa 
tion-  rather.  I  will  cite  my  own  change  of 
opinion,  as  proof  that  we  may,  if  we  will  be 
open  to  conviction,  correct  our  errors  of  sen 
timent.  The  person  who  believes  he  has  no 
errors  of  opinion,  must  be  a  fool, — and  he 
who  will  not  correct  them,  when  discovered, 
will  never  be  wise. 

When  I  was  a  tiny  boy  I  thought,  as  our  city 
children  do,  that  the  country  was  a  place  of 
woods,  tilled  with  bears  and  other  wild  animals, 
and  I  regarded  the  country  people  as  objects 
of  compassion,  because  they  were  obliged  to 
live  in  such  a  place.  This,  you  will  say,  was 
a  childish  notion,  but  I  always  retained  the 
idea,  that  the  advantages  of  a  polite  education 
were,  in  New  England,  confined  to  Boston  and 


276  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

its  vicinity.  A  few  weeks'  residence  here 
has  convinced  me,  and  therefore  I  acknowledge 
it,  that  a  young  lady  may  possess  a  refined 
taste,  and  cultivated  mind  and  manners,  may 
be  accomplished  in  your  sense  of  that  fashion 
able  word,  without  even  having  been  beyond 
the  atmosphere  of  Vermont  ;  and  that  country 
farmers  may  be  men  of  intelligence  and  litera 
ture,  may  be  well-bred  and  agreeable,  in  short, 
gentlemen  in  manners  and  conversation.  You 
recollect  saying  that  I  should  hear  no  music 
in  this  region,  save  the  piping  of  the  winds,  or 
the  shrieks  of  wild  cats.  Why,  Edward, — I 
listen  to  the  notes  of  a  piano-forte  every  day  ; 
and  the  sweet  girl  who  plays  it  with  a  taste  ana 
skill  I  scarce  ever  heard  exceeded,  never  was 
out  of  Vermont  in  her  life  !  You  may  stare, 
you  must  not  disbelieve.  When  I  first  saw 
the  instrument,  the  evening  of  my  arrival,  I 
thought  Mr.  Silsby  must  have  purchased  it  at 
some  auction  in  Boston,  and  removed  it  to 
the  country  to  astonish  the  natives.  I  have 
since  been  told,  and  am  convinced,  that  there 
are  but  very  few  villages  in  this  state  or  in 
New  Hampshire,  but  what  have  at  least  one 
family,  often  several,  whose  daughters  are  in 
structed  to  play  the  piano-forte.  I  do  not  men 
tion  this  as  redounding  vastly  to  their  praise, 
because  I  think  the  accomplishment,  delightful 
as  it  is,  is  often  too  dearly  purchased  ;  but  I 
wish  you  to  know,  that  the  city  belles  do  not 
monopolize  all  the  advantages  of  such  accom 
plishments.  And  1  wish  also  to  correct  your 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.       277 

ideas  respecting  the  wealth  and  intelligence, 
the  manners  and  refinement  of  this  portion  of 
our  Union. 

In  the  dwelling  of  Colonel  Gage,  large, 
thoroughly  finished,  and  furnished,  even  filled 
full  from  garret  to  cellar,  I  see  nothing  that 
would  shock  your  taste  save  the  large  fire 
places,  and  an  old-fashioned,  armed  chair  in  the 
sitting  room.  The  latter,  Colonel  Gage  would 
tell  you  he  prized,  because  it  was  his  father's 
before  him,  and  the  former  he  would  say,  were 
necessary  for  the  climate.  But  I  confess  they 
alarmed  me  a  little,  especially  the  first  time  I 
saw  the  kitchen  fire.  I  was  passing  the  door, 
when  hearing  a  roaring  like  that  of  flame,  I 
stepped  in — and  such  a  blaze  I  never  saw  on 
any  hearth  before.  I  hastily  demanded  of  the 
housemaid,  if  there  was  an  engine  at  hand. 
She  understood  me  to  say  Indian — and  replied, 
that  there  had  never  been  an  Indian  in  town 
since  she  could  remember.  After  I  made  her 
comprehend  my  meaning,  the  matter  was  no 
better,  for  neither  had  she  even  seen  an  engine. 
In  the  theory  of  extinguishing  fires,  therefore, 
I  found  I  was  vastly  superior  to  the  Vermont- 
ers,  but  in  the  skill  of  kindling  (or  building  as 
they  term  it,  and  truly,  the  pile  of  maple  wood 
looks  like  a  building,)  one  I  was  quite  as  infe 
rior — so  on  the  whole  I  had  nothing  to  boast. 
But  now  I  have  become  accustomed  to  these 
bright,  blazing  hearths,  I  do  admire  them. 
There  is  a  generous  hospitality  in  their  light, 
•and  they  inspire  a  cheerfulness  of  feeling,  which 


278  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

is,  as  I  think,  the  chief  reason  why  the  country 
people  are  never  troubled  with  ennui  or  dis- 
pepsia.  i  Sin  and  sea-coal '  you  know,  are 
proverbially  united  ;  and  according  to  the  poet, 
Melancholy  dwells  only 

'  Where  brooding  darkness  spreads  his  jealous  wings.' 

Which  never  happens,  I  assure  you,  in  a  Yan 
kee  farmer's  house,  except  when  the  inmates 
are  asleep. 

I  am  convinced  that  winter  is  the  season 
to  visit  the  country,  if  you  wish  to  become 
acquainted  with  the  true  character  of  the  in 
habitants.  They  are  then  freed  in  a  great  mea 
sure,  from  that  hurry  and  care  which,  often  in 
the  seasons  of  flowers,  clouds  their  faces  with 
anxiety,  and  amid  the  profusion  of  the  harvest, 
which  they  must  .toil  and  sweat  to  gather,  makes 
them  look  sad  and  weary.  These  labors  are 
closed  when  the  winter  commences, — their 
garners  are  filled — it  is  a  season  of  leisure,  es 
pecially  the  winter  evenings,  and  then  is  the 
time  for  their  balls,  parties,  sleigh-rides  and 
social  visits.  Never  did  I  see  more  unaffected 
hospitality  displayed,  more  real  pleasure  enjoy 
ed  than  at  these  merry  parties.  They  have 
earned  the  right  to  be  happy,  and  right  well  do 
they  improve  it.  But  though  I  enjoy  exceed 
ingly  these  frank,  social  visits,  yet  I  own  it 
pleases  me  best  to  pass  my  evenings  at  home, 
in  our  domestic  circle.  Edward,  I  see  the 
contemptuous  curl  on  your  lip  while  you  ask, 
what  charm  there  can  possibly  be  in  the  hum- 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  279 

drum  circle  of  a  farmer's  family  that  so  enchants 
me  ?  You  must  not  think  of  Colonel  Gage  as 
a  farmer  and  nothing  else.  It  is  the  boast  of 
our  free  institutions,  that  talents,  and  worth, 
and  energy,  may  claim  their  reward,  let  the 
station  of  their  possessor  be  what  it  may. 
Colonel  Gage  was  an  officer  in  the  revolution 
ary  war,  and  he  has  held  civil  offices  of  all 
grades  from  that  of  town  clerk  to  senator  in  the 
State  Legislature.  But  all  these  honors  have 
never  tempted  him  to  relinquish  the  plough. 
A  man  he  is,  representing  the  New  England 
character  of  industry,  enterprise,  intelligence 
and  perseverance  in  its  best  light,  because  his 
course  has  always  been  marked  by  that  high- 
minded  integrity,  which  will  command  respect. 
(How  I  wish  all  our  Yankees  deserved  such  a 
report.)  Then  he  is  so  generous,  so  truly  hos 
pitable — and  so  uniformly  pious — Edward.  I 
would  take  his  chance  of  gaining  heaven  before 
that  of  any  person  I  know.  But  our  domestic 
circle.  Allow  me  to  describe  one  evening. 
I  have  passed  many  such,  and  instead  of  find 
ing  them  grow  dull  by  repetition,  "  like  a  third 
representation"  of  a  barren  play,  I  look  forward 
to  each  succeeding  evening,  with  that  expec 
tation  of  entertainment  we  cherish,  when  a 
favorite  actor  is  announced,  from  whose  ver 
satile  powers  we  always  expect  new  delight. 
But  perhaps  I  ought  first  to  mention  our  daily 
fare,  which,  by  the  way,  is  daily  feasting.  Such 
breakfasts  and  suppers  !  The  profusion  of 
good  things  then  set  forth,  would  absolutely 


280  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

astound  you,  and  be  called  quite  vulgar  in 
your  city,  where  all  the  dainties  are  displayed 
at  dinner.  But  I  have  the  authority  of  Dr. 
Johnson  for  liking  a  good  breakfast  ;  and  for 
their  suppers — why,  on  my  own  authority,  I 
pronounce  them  in  good  taste.  It  is  the  l  land 
of  cakes'  here — that's  certain.  To  describe 
all  the  different  kinds  I  have  eaten,  would 
require  half  a  volume  at  least. 

But  the  evening — You  must  know  Mr.  Silsby 
always  dispenses  with  my  presence  in  the  store 
after  eight  o'clock.  He  stays  till  nine.  When 
I  enter  the  sitting  room  the  family  are  arranged 
in  the  following  order.  Colonel  Gage  in  his 
armed  chair,  occupies  the  right  hand  corner  be 
yond  the  fire-place,  his  dignified  countenance 
looking  peculiarly  benign  and  holy,  as  the 
brightening  or  falling  blaze  alternately  reveals 
or  shades  his  gray  hairs,  and  his  calm,  thought 
ful  features.  Nestling  in  his  bosom,  or  play 
ing  at  his  knees,  may  be  seen  his  youngest 
boy,  the  loved  Benjamin  of  his  old  age,  and 
close  beside  him  sits  his  wife  with  her  knitting 
work.  She  is  many  years  younger  than  her 
husband,  and  still  a  beautiful  woman  ;  but  her 
greatest  charm  is,  that  constancy,  that  de- 
votedness  of  affection,  that  charity,  with  which 
she  seems  to  be  always  waiting  t8  promote  her 
husband's  comfort,  the  improvement  of  her 
children,  and  the  happiness  of  all  around  her. 
In  the  centre  of  the  room,  stands  an  old-fashion 
ed,  round  table,  covered  with  books,  news 
papers,  a  board  exhibiting  the  royal  game  of 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  281 

<£  fox  and  geese,"  and  all  the  feminine  appara 
tus  of  needle-work.  On  the  side  of  the  table, 
(if  side  can  be  predicated  of  a  round  form,) 
next  his  mother,  is  the  place  of  Master  Robert 
Gage,  the  "  eldest  hope,"  a  scholar,  fitting  for 
college,  already  ambitious  of  being  a  great 
man.  Near  to  him  usually  stand  or  sit  his  two 
brothers,  frolicksome  fellows,  whose  glee  over 
their  game  or  their  books,  frequently  awakens 
their  mother's  reproofs.  TU*^  rogues,  however, 


pay  little  attention  to  her  „  sft-spoken  remon 
strances  ;  but  if  they  meet  their  father's  eye 
"  frowning  disprovingly,"  or  hear  the  slight  tap 
of  his  foot  on  the  floor,  they  are  hushed  as 
sleep.  Opposite  master  Robert,  sits  the  only 
daughter  of  my  host,  the  sweet  Catharine  — 
positively,  Edward,  the  loveliest  girl  I  ever 
beheld,  There  she  sits,  looking  so  meek  and 
innocent  as  she  bends  her  head  closer  to  her 
work,  whenever  I  too  earnestly  regard  her,  — 
but  sometimes  —  usually  when  I  enter  the  room, 
she  looks  up  in  my  face  with  such  a  smile!  0! 
when  I  can  flatter  myself  —  as  I  try  to  do,  that 
it  welcomes  me  to  the  family  circle,  you  cannot 
know  how  happy  I  feel.  I  am  prevented  from 
taking  a  seat  beside  her,  because  that  is  always 
occupied  by  her  brother  John,  the  youngest 
child  but  one.  He  loves  Catharine  so  well 
that  I  cannot  help  loving  the  little  urchin  on 
her  account,  or  otherwise,  I  fear  I  should  real 
ly  hate  him.  For  there  he  will  sit  a  full  hour 
after  I  am  at  home,  and  he  will  engross  ill  the 
attention  Catharine  can  spare  from  her  work. 
24 


•    AMERICAN   SKETCHES. 

He  it  is,  that  helps  her  wind  her  tn  re  ad, 'and 
he  holds  her  work-basket,  and  picks  up  her 
scissors,  or  handkerchief — and  often,  claims  a 
kiss  for  his  reward.  I  have  really  wanted  to 
strike  that  boy  !  There  are  always  two  va 
cant  chairs,  left  for  Mr.  Silsby  and  your  hum 
ble  servant,  and  as  I  have  my  first  choice,  I 
take  the  one  nearest  to  Catharine,  but  that 
is  of  little  consequence  while  John  remains. 
Colonel  Gage  converses  with  the  ease  of  one 
accustomed  to  society,  and  he  has  moreover,  all 
the  fund  of  anecdote,  which  a  revolutionary 
soldier  and  a  pioneer  in  our  new  settlements, 
might  be  expected  to  possess.  I  have  learned 
more  from  him  of  the  early  history  of  my 
country,  more  of  the  peculiar  spirit  of  the  early 
settlers,  of  their  character,  their  labors  and 
resources,  than  I  ever  learned  before  in  my 
whole  life.  At  nine  o'clock,  or  a  little  before, 
Mr.  Silsby  makes  his  appearance,  and  then  the 
four  younger  boys  are  dismissed  to  bed.  I 
always  rejoice  when  John  goes,  but  the  man 
ner  in  which  their  father  takes  leave  of  them 
for  the  night,  has  a  solemnity  that  awes,  and 
prevents  me  from  .taking  any  advantage  of  my 
proximity  to  addre&s  Catharine.  The  boys  in 
leaving  the  room,  pass  directly  by  their  fa 
ther.  They  pause  before  him,  while  he,  in  a 
tone  of  tender  and  touching  pathos,  dispenses  a 
few  sentences  of  reproof,  advice,  or  commend 
ation,  to  each  individual.  I  never  witnessed 
such  a  scene.  I  should  think  it  would  have  a 
powerful  effect  on  their  tender  hearts  ;  for 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  285 

when,  as  he  receives  their  bow  or  kiss,  he 
adds,  "  God  bless  you  my  children  !"  I  often 
find  it  difficult  to  breathe  freely.  After  a  short 
pause,  however,  we  begin  to  converse,  and  all 
join  in  the  discourse  more  cheerfully,  if  possi 
ble,  than  before.  News,  politics,  literature 
and  anecdote,  with  an  occasional  tune  on  the 
piano-forte  ;  the  Colonel  is  quite  an  enthusiast 
in  his  love  of  music  ;  and  the  hour  often  comes 
ere  we  are  aware.  I  should  remark,  that  we 
always  have  apples  and  cider,  and  frequently 
nuts  of  some  kind,  during  the  evening,  and 
furthermore,  I  confess,  that  during  the  last 
hour,  as  the  fire  is  gradually  suffered  to  decay, 
we  as  gradually  draw  nearer  to  the  hearth, 
and  our  circle  contracting,  I  am  at  last  usually 
quite  near  Catharine.  I  say  usually,  because 
whenever  Catharine  leaves  her  chair  to  play 
a  tune,  she  seldom  returns  to  it — she  contrives 
to  steal  round  to  her  father's  side,  arid  seats 
herself  on  a  low  chair  close  by  his  knee  ;  a 
seat  claimed  by  the  little  boy  when  he  is  there. 
I  wish  from  my  soul  he  would  take  that  small 
chair  with  him  when  he  goes  to  bed. ' 

I  expect  you  will  smile  at  what  I  am  now 
going  to  confess — you  will  wish  you  were  here 
to  quiz  me.  So  do  not  I.  "Though  conscious 
I  am  acting  rightly,  I  have  hardly  sufficient 
courage  yet  to  stand  the  test  of  ridicule;  but  as 
one  conquest  over  my  own  weakness,  I  confess 
that  I  attend  the  family  devotions  from  choice  ; 
that  I  kneel  at  prayers  ;  that  Colonel  Gage  is 
a  Methodist,  and  that  Catharine  says  "  amen  !" 


2S4  AMERICAN  SKETCHES. 

in  a  tone  so  soft,  sweet  and  angelic,  that  it 
causes  me  to  feel  my  own  unworthiness  more 
poignantly  than  would  the  severest  reproofs. 
I  never  before  comprehended  what  the  dis 
tress  of  Macbeth  was,  when  he  could  not  say 
"  amen."  Yes,  Edward — when  I  can  kneel 
beside  that  innocent  girl,  and  catch  her  soft 
whispered  "  amen," — as  her  saint-like  father 
pauses  in  the  aspirations  he  has  been  pouring 
forth,  perhaps  for  my  salvation — I  fancy  she 
always  responds  the  sweetest  then,  though  in 
the  lowest  tone, — my  heart  throbs  and  swells 
till — I  believe — tears  have  relieved  me  from 
the  agitation  of  my  feelings.  But  this  agita 
tion  is  not  care,  or  pain,  or  discontent.  No — I 
lay  my  head  on  my  pillow  in  peace,  everything 
around  me  is  peaceful, — my  reflections  are 
all  tinged  with  the  Eden-like  love  and  happi 
ness  that  pervade  this  good  family.  "  0,  eve 
nings  worthy  of  the  Gods  !"  you  may  exclaim, 
while  revelling  in  your  round  of  amusements^ 
my  apostrophe  to  evening  would  be — 

"I  crown  thee  king  of  intimate  delights, 
Fire-side  enjoyments — heartfelt  happiness, — 
And  all  the  comforts  of  this  dear,  dear  home."  ' 


March  30. — c  You  say  I  am  in  /ore,  and  that 
it  is  the  deluding  passion  which  imparts  the 
"  Eden-like  tinge,"  I  rave  about.  True,  Ed 
ward,  I  confess  you  are  right — I  am  in  love  ; 
but  it  is  a  patriotic,  not  a  personal  passion  that 
engrosses  me,  I  am  in  love  with  my  country 


A  WINTER  LN  THE  COUNTRY.  *35 

I  was  always  proud  of  being  a  Bostonian — 
Boston  was  the  cradle  of  liberty,  the  literary 
emporium,  the  seat  of  arts,  eloquence  and 
fashion.  Europeans  were  pleased  with  Bos 
ton,  and  allowed  that  we  there  possessed  the 
advantages  of  good  society.  But  still  they 
ridicule  America  and  Americans,  and  I — fool 
that  I  was — have  acknowledged  while  convers 
ing  with  them,  that  the  interior  of  our  country 
was  yet  rude — rude  in  its  appearance,  and 
rude  in  the  character  of  its  inhabitants.  Ver 
mont,  especially,  I  considered,  and  reported 
as  the  Thule  of  our  population,  where  civilisa 
tion  ought  not  to  be  expected.  Edward,  I  am 
ashamed  of  my  ignorance,  and  I  declare  to  you, 
that  those  dwellers  in  your  proud  city,  who 
have  seen  little  beyond  it,  are  hardly  better 
qualified  to  judge  of  the  benefits  of  our  free 
institutions  and  the  peculiar  character  of  our 
country  people,  than  are  those  who  have  always 
lived  beneath  a  royal  government.  All  large 
cities  must  of  necessity  be  similar  in  one 
striking  feature — the  disparity  in  the  condition 
of  the  citizens.  Riches,  in  the  city,  give  the 
possessor  a  distinction,  as  surely  as  the  privi- 
ledge  of  wearing  a  star  and  garter,  and  poverty 
is  there  degraded,  and  submits  to  a  servile  de 
pendency,  perhaps  even  to  beggary  ;  though 
begging  in  our  cities  is  usually  practised  by 
few  but  foreign  mendicants,  yet  still  it  lookg 
exceedingly  preposterous  to  see  such  misery 
among  a  people  boasting  so  much  of  their 
liberty,  and  equality,  and  prosperity,  and  happi- 


286  AMERICAN  SKETCHES 

ness.  But  the  country,  the  country  has  none 
of  this.  Here  is  no  ignorance,  or  want,  or 
poverty,  such  as  you  have  seen  exhibited. 
Plenty  of  work  there  is  to  be  sure,  and  the 
people  work  hard,  but  then  it  is  fashionable  to 
work,  they  do  not  feel  degraded,  and  they  are 
not  degraded  by  it.  They  labor  for  themselves  ; 
there  is  no  landlord  or  tenant  ;  no  hired  dwell 
ings  ;  no  rent  to  press  like  an  incubus,  and  de 
stroy  the  sleep  of  the  weary.  They  reside  in 
their  own  houses,  on  their  own  farms  ;  they 
have  enough,  and  to  spare  5  they  are  lords  of 
the  soil  and  the  laws  ;  yet  living  in  simplicity, 
and  submitting  quietly  to  all  the  necessary 
civil  restrictions  ;  but  weir*  acquainted  with 
their  own  rights,  and  watching  the  conduct  of 
their  rulers  with  a  strict  and  scrutinizing  eye — 
providing  liberally  for  public  education,  and 
eager  to  give  their  children  its  advantages — 
and  you  will  find  well-educated,  even  highly 
cultivated  and  refined  people  ;  those  who  would 
do  credit  to  your  "  good  society  ;"  in  every  little 
town  or  village  scattered  through  this — as  you 
think,  wild  and  rude  State.  "  Give  me  neither 
poverty  nor  riches,"  said  the  wise  man  ;  and  I 
now  see  the  wisdom  of  his  wish.  The  country 
is  the  strength  of  our  Republic.  Luxury  may 
enervate  our  cities,  but  through  our  wide 
spread  country,  the  healthful  tido  of  liberty 
will  still  flow  uncorrupted.  There  is  no  other 
land  where  the  people  are  so  free,  so  virtuous, 
so  intelligent,  so  happy.  I  no  longer  connect 
the  idea  of  American  greatness,  with  the  great- 


A  WINTER  IN  THE  COUNTRY.  287 

ness  of  our  cities.  Should  a  foreigner  ask  me 
to  show  him  the  great  blessings  of  our  boasted 
freedom,  I  would  send  him  on  a  six  months' 
tour  among  the  independent  yedrnanry  of  our 
land, — the  peasantry,  as  he  would  call  them 
Edward,  I  am  a  patriot  ;  I  love  my  country, 
and — why  should  I  deny  to  you  ? — I  love 
Catharine. y 


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